


The Sleeper Agent

by calypsos_song



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anti-Hero, Crime, Criminal Underworld, Espionage, F/M, Film Noir, In state of constant rewrites, Modern AU, Modern day London, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot Twists, Police, Slow Burn, Spies, Twisted love letter to the city of London, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calypsos_song/pseuds/calypsos_song
Summary: Sleeper agent (noun); a secret agent who remains inactive for a long period while establishing a secure position.Growing up as an orphan has made Sansa Stark see the world only in black and white. In her mind, good always wins over evil. The city of London, however, operates under a cloak of grey ambiguity.Her new job as a sleeper agent for MI6 draws her into contact with many of the city's darker characters. When she is assigned to investigate a criminal organisation known as The Devil's Rejects, she crosses paths with the infamous man known on the street as Littlefinger. As Sansa gets to know the man behind his reputation, Petyr Baelish, her black and white absolutism begins to mix together in a darkly sexy cat and mouse game between an agent and her target.





	1. The Dove and The Hound

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again...
> 
> Sorry if it seems like I'm reposting an old story. I've deleted the old one and have found myself wanting to rewrite this story from my old outline. 
> 
> I felt like I had been rushing this story out before and not thinking about detail, character development...something simple like plot lol. I have no beta and the story was more of a drabble than something concrete and thought out. 
> 
> I've sadly moved back to my country after a time living in Europe and am feeling down in the dumps so thought it fitting to sit among the pages of fanfiction LOL! Writing these characters live in a city I miss makes me feel a bit less lonely...but I now have more time to plot out this story. I know how I want this to end, but I just need to fill in the middle bits.
> 
> Please note that I am using the canon as a base and am diverging with my own imagination. Sorry if the characters don't live up to your expectations, but feedback is always welcome. I hope to create something mildly entertaining...
> 
> If you're looking for just smut and no plot, sorry. Hope this is ok. If the response is positive, I will try to update regularly...this time with more thought towards the story.
> 
> Thank you for your time.

An undercover agent never had to worry about their cover being blown on the London Underground since every commuter seemed to make a conscious effort to avoid unnecessary eye contact.

Squished in her seat on a train full of grim-faced Londoners, Sansa laughed to herself at the thought of James Bond taking the tube. Public transport offered a learning opportunity. She liked to listen to the cacophony of accents and languages that jumped from station to station. The English language, modified and adapted in every possible spoken form, ricocheted through the narrow train carriage. During her training period for her new job, she was taught that it was always useful to get accustomed to different tones of voice to help make false identities more believable. She wasn't quite able to hide her background yet, but she thought she was getting better and better at acting out different roles. 

As she covertly studied the other passengers, she wondered how many of them had chosen to live their lives cloaked in the city's ambiguous greys. Her bright blue eyes saw the world only in black and white. In her point of view, she had chosen to work on the right side of the law. The good side. Her new job as an undercover agent would allow her to keep fighting against the crime and corruption that plagued this city.

To her, shades of grey only meant a lack of integrity.

At Pimlico station, she shouldered her way out to the exit and joined the throng of people walking down Vauxhall bridge towards the South Bank of London. An early autumn drizzle added to the grey coat that perpetually draped itself over the capital. The brown water of the River Thames bisected the city, twisting and turning in languid curves like a snake slithering through mud.

Halfway across the bridge, she gazed ahead at her workplace. The tan coloured MI6 building looked like it had been haphazardly constructed by a giant child's building blocks and then left outside to rust. It was affectionately named Legoland by its employees. She shook her head at the logic of housing the headquarters of Britain's espionage network in the most conspicuous building in London.

She swiped her employee card at the entry door. After the little green light beeped, the first door opened and she stepped into the single person space before it closed behind her. Another door in front of her prevented her from entering the main building. She placed her fingerprint on the keypad to her right and stepped in front of the small camera to allow it to capture her right iris. Another green beep sounded and she stepped into the main foyer.

It still felt surreal to work at a place that had an almost mythical reputation. Before her first day of work, she imagined that the inside of M6 would be sleek and filled with high tech gadgets. Although the outside of the building was absurdly ostentatious, the interior was designed to be austere and practical. It was as though the government apologised for the cost of creating the flashy exterior by reminding its employees that international espionage was still a taxpayer-funded agency. Smartly dressed people walked to and fro, chattering in low voices.

She entered an elevator and pushed the button for her department’s small office on the fifth floor. Stepping out of the elevator, she walked into a small hallway. The single door at the end of the passage was protected by fingerprint and voice recognition. When the door beeped and granted her access, Sansa took a deep breath and prepared herself for her boss’s daily morning diatribe. Half of the desks were still empty. The workers who sat behind their desks looked up at Sansa with bemused expressions as she walked with a nervous step towards her boss’s office. As the greenest agent on payroll with zero field experience, she tried not to be intimidated by her seasoned peers.

She hoped that would change today.

"There you are, Sansa. I’m glad that you always arrive on time unlike those other lazy bastards who call themselves agents," Olenna Tyrell's sharp voice cut through the air as she opened the door.

"Some of your colleagues have been holed up in this ugly building for so long that they fail to notice the sticks embedded so far up their arses,” she muttered loudly, making sure that her rebuke shot through the office.

Olenna readjusted the fake red rose that she kept pinned on the lapel of her blazers. That quirk, combined with her prickly personality, had led everyone at the bureau to secretly nickname the petite elderly woman “The Queen of Thorns.” Olenna would never be asked to fill in for a diplomat, but her talent for seeing through other people’s bullshit was remarkable. When she had first started work, Sansa had been absolutely terrified by Olenna.

It seemed like the older woman ignored all the carefully constructed rules of social politeness that her stepmother had drilled into her since youth. Euphemisms were considered to be the worst form of speech for Olenna. _“_ _Why should I cover up my insults with pretty words?”_ she had asked incredulously during one of Sansa’s first days.

Sansa had never been and never hoped to be at the receiving end of a verbal whipping in front of the other staff. In Olenna’s own way, Sansa knew that she was genuinely being mentored and she felt a sort of gratitude.

Olenna's intelligent blue eyes appraised the tall girl before her. Wasting no time, she fired her first challenge.

"Are you ready for your first assignment?"

Her face must have shown a hint of hesitation because Olenna's sharp voice cut her off before she could reply.

"If you're not ready yet, it's okay but that means you'll be going back to ‘field training preparation,’ whatever that means, from a bleeding book!” Olenna gave her a pointed look from behind her desk.

"No, no. I'm ready to put my training into practice," Sansa said with what she hoped to pass off as confidence. Slipping into the chair across from her employer's metal desk, she straightened her back and placed her hands together in her lap.

Olenna studied her for a moment before she broke out into a genuine smile.

"Good girl. I knew you were a smart one and not another one of those pretty, empty-headed Oxbridge cows."

Sansa tried to hide a grin as Olenna pulled out a file and perused its contents.

“Now, what god awful alias have you been given for this assignment? Alayne? Not too bad. I could tell you the horrid names that some of your colleagues have to work with,” she shuddered dramatically as she studied the paper in front of her. She looked back towards her protegee. “Don’t think I’m ignorant of what you all call me behind my back,” she clucked.

“From now on, I’m going to refer to you by your alias. You should get used to hearing yourself referred to as Alayne. It would make it less awkward if someone calls you by your alias and you forget to acknowledge them. Understood Alayne?”

“Yes madam.”

Olenna rolled her eyes. “If you need to address me in public, refer to me as Rose. The Queen of Thorns, eh? That’s not an alias. It’s a warning,” her thin lips curled into a wry grin.

"You were just an infant when your whole family was killed in a car accident, no? Tragic how life works. Well, we're your family now Alayne. Maybe you survived to grow up and work to promote goodness in this cruel world."

Olenna gave Sansa a curious look before she rifled through the folder and pulled out some photos.

"Speaking of this cruel world, are you ready to meet real life villains? They call themselves the Devil’s Rejects.”

Olenna studied Sansa carefully as she passed the photos over the desk to her new recruit. Colourless eyes of death locked into her as she stared at the prison mugshot. Suddenly the room felt colder. The hair on her arms twitched upright. It seemed as though hell itself had spat this creature back out to terrorise the living. The long strings of grey hair that hung around his almost bald head made it look like he had been scalped. Pockmarks sunk like shallow graves into hollow cheeks. The cruel slant of his mouth cut his expression into a permanent grimace. His eyes were so deeply set that it seemed like they had been carved into his thin face. If his photo made her uncomfortable, how could she confront this demon face to face? She prayed that Olenna wouldn’t let that happen. She quickly set the photo face down on the desk.

“Ilyn Payne,” Olenna remarked humourlessly. “And before you ask, yes, that is his real surname. He was born to wear a hooded cape and carry a scythe around town. I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s even creepier in real life. He had his tongue cut out when he started doing murder for hire so that he could never reveal any names to the police or to rival gangs. He’s a hitman that is very good at his job.”

Sansa glanced down to the next photo she had in her hands. It was another mugshot. This time, a red-bearded man with a ruddy complexion and short cropped hair looked up at her. Although he wasn't old, wrinkles marred his wide forehead like barbed wire. His thick neck and stocky build revealed a physical strength that wasn’t apparent in Ilyn Payne’s photo. His bulbous nose looked like it had been broken multiple times with another man’s fist. The horizontal lines that the man stood in front of revealed his height to be 6’3”. If Payne hunted his victims with weapons, this man looked like he could kill with brute force alone.

“Meryn Trant,” Olenna continued as Sansa placed his photo on top of his cohort. “He looks more harmless than Mr. Pain, but he’s just as lethal and creepy. Mr. Grim Reaper over there is his henchman. Trant’s an abusive paedophile. I bet even Satan himself would spit on Meryn Trant.”

“So why are we interested in them? Yes, they murder and rape but why couldn’t the police just arrest them?” Sansa wondered innocently.

“Think my girl,” Olenna pushed. “You’ve just seen their mugshots. Those scum have some sort of sick guardian angel who keeps dropping them a get out of jail free card. If they were to be arrested again, someone else would just take their place. The Devil’s Rejects are a tight knit organisation that involve themselves with everything. Deaths, drugs, guns, sex...you get the picture. What little information we have points to Payne and Trant as the gang leaders. Now these two are menaces, but I find it hard to believe that they have the brains to run an entire crime syndicate. Payne can’t even bloody speak! We need to find the kingpin in order to stop their horrific crimes.”

Olenna pursed her lips and interlocked her hands together on top of the desk.

“They made it personal for me when they killed one of our own. We were just getting close to pinning down information on whoever it is at the top when everything went to shit.”

Her eyes fixed at a random point on the wall behind Sansa as she shook her head and sighed. Sansa raised the last photo in her hand.

“The last one you’re holding is a key to that information.”

Unlike the previous two, this man didn’t look like he would be caught dead wearing an orange jumpsuit. The image had captured a dark haired man in a crisp black suit stepping out of a Roll Royce parked in front of a posh hotel. The photographer didn’t have the foresight to use a long lens camera and Sansa couldn’t make out his features as clearly as the mugshots of Peyne and Trant. He looked harmless enough, like one of those rich banker types that congregated around the financial district. _Harmless, but not powerless_. Sansa knew confidence when she saw it. He had the air of a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. 

"Meet Littlefinger," Olenna mused as she tilted her head to peruse the photo.

"Don't let yourself be underestimated by his street name and that GQ closet.”

Despite the warning of her boss, Sansa couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Littlefinger? Seriously? Who would call themself something like that? Have these thugs run out of rapper names?” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Is that his real name? I couldn’t believe the Grim Reaper’s last name was Payne.”

"No it’s not,” Olenna said. “We actually don’t know his real name. All the legal documents of his that I looked at were simply signed as ‘Mockingbird’. The man built his own identity to be as meticulously fortified as his businesses. He doesn’t draw attention to himself. On paper, every one of his holdings is by-the-book legitimate. Compared to the other two, there's pretty much nothing to fear about Littlefinger.”

“Why is MI6 interested in him then?” Sansa queried. Olenna replied with a slow smile.

“The people who look squeaky clean on paper sometimes have the dirtiest hands. Littlefinger owns the most exclusive club downtown called the Mockingbird. Like I said before, it’s legitimate on paper. We have ideas about what goes on there, but it’s all speculation. We’ve never had an agent successfully infiltrate it. Our sources have spotted both Payne and Trant leaving from there. If he associates with scum like them, it’s possible that he knows who is in charge of the Devil’s Rejects. Littlefinger is a means to an end for us.”

Olenna drummed her fingers noisily against the metal desk, the tattoo a call to arms before the battle.

"You're wondering why you have an employee badge at the Ritz Carlton. Our little birds have passed the information that Littlefinger will be meeting someone important this evening. You must understand that this opportunity is very rare. Someone like Littlefinger would choose to conduct a meeting behind the carefully constructed walls of his little club. Whoever he's meeting tonight doesn't trust him enough to meet in the Mockingbird...and vice versa. I have a hunch the person he's meeting is connected to the Devil's Rejects. I thought that it would be better for you to observe these crooks from a safe distance first before you attempt to infiltrate the network. While they are meeting at the hotel, keep close and pay attention. As a sleeper agent, you're only supposed to gather information and observe. As long as you keep to your role as a demure and discreet hotel worker, you should be fine."

At first, Sansa absorbed the information quietly. The clock behind her boss indicated that it had just turned ten o'clock. Shit, she had barely ten hours to get herself prepared for action. Raw nerves kicked away her resolve while the taunts of her self doubts beat at her confidence.  _Can I stay calm and do my job while I'm in the same space as evil men? What if I screw up and they find out who I work for?_

"I wasn't lying when I said that you'd be meeting real life villains."

Olenna's bright blue eyes bore into Sansa as she studied her.

"Look, I can tell that you're nervous. I know it's your first assignment, but this is your chance to prove to me and to the rest of the bureau that you are trustworthy and capable enough to perform under pressure. These types of people play dirty so don't expect to have clean hands yourself by the end of this job. If you can observe these bad boys and tell me something new, you'll make me and the bureau very happy."

Sansa tried to smile, but the apprehension had gripped her lips into a straight line. Her mouth was dry as she wrenched her jaw open to speak.

"You expect me to do all of this alone?" _How could one inexperienced agent pull off an entire operation alone?_

"Of course you're not going alone," Olenna pronounced with a sharp click of her tongue.

"You're lucky that I like you. If not, I would have thrown you under the bus."

She picked up the phone at her desk and barked an order into the mouthpiece.

"Send the Hound to my office."

She didn't wait for a reply as she placed the phone back down. 

"The Hound used to be one of my most experienced agents," Olenna replied to Sansa's silent question.

"His face is too conspicuous to do undercover work as you'll soon see. He used to be my best agent before a botched assignment almost killed him. He's since gotten himself promoted to whatever he does now. Everyone here nicknamed him as The Hound because he was the only one who could stand my presence and follow through with my orders without any attitude. Ha!" 

The booming knock at the door sounded like it had come from someone with massive fists.  _Good_ , she thought.  _I won't have to worry about having to fight my way out if anything goes wrong._

"Come in," Olenna called out.

The security of having another agent to help Sansa on her first stake out was a relief. She swiveled in her chair, ready to greet her counterpart with a smile. 

As the colossal man strode into the office, Sansa forgot her manners as she recoiled in horror. Her first reaction had been to scream. Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth as she tried to control her panic. Hellfire had burned its way across the man's face. His left profile looked like it had been charred over a spit. Angry red and white lines crisscrossed and ran from the top of the scalp and down the side of his neck. The raised scars made it seem as though his skin would melt off if touched. His dark brown locks of shoulder length hair had been deeply parted to hang over the deformed half of his face. His grey eyes regarded her with indifference. Sansa remembered herself and swallowed, trying to recover her composure. 

"At least you weren't rude enough to faint from terror," his Scottish voice rasped deeply in greeting.

Sansa felt her own face burn with embarrassment at her lack of manners. Her eyes darted away in shame yet to her surprise, she couldn't bring herself to fully look away. She continued to peek at him like he was a creature at a freak show.

"Alayne, the Hound will be your support for this evening. He is an expert at stakeouts and will fill you in on what you need to prepare for. You will both be wearing wires so if you need anything, all you have to do is say the safe word and he'll find you. I'm going to ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Olenna appraised her with a severe stare. There was a myriad of risks and possibilities that her boss weighed and calculated. Sansa supposed that her dramatic reaction to the Hound's entrance had been another sort of test that she had failed. Instead of keeping her composure, she hadn't hidden her true feelings. She needed to learn how to control her emotions.

Sansa readjusted her posture, straightened her spine and answered her boss with an impassive expression. _The act starts now._

"Yes. I won't be able to learn how to be a better agent if I don't try," Sansa tried to say with confidence even as her jittery nerves threatened to resurge. Her face moved to the Hound's as she met his stoic gaze without blinking.

"Am I supposed to call you the Hound when we're in public? Is that really your alias?" Sansa asked incredulously. 

"I don't care what ye call me," he snapped. "Name me whatever you want."

He moved his face so that the overhead light seemed to make the scars gleam.

"After you've gone through something like this, silly things like names don't bother ye anymore."

Ilyn Payne's face had no gruesome scars, yet there was a malice that lurked in his blank eyes. The Hound had a face that could launch a thousand nightmares, yet Olenna trusted him and that realisation had made Sansa relax a little. Her thoughts had also taken a more sympathetic turn. Now she wondered  _why_  the Hound had those wounds inflicted on him. Or more sinister,  _who_ had ordered it.

Olenna cleared her throat and gave the Hound a briefing for the evening. Sansa wasn't paying attention to their exchange, her attention taken up by the Hound's appearance. Her wary eyes continued to study him with the caution that an animal trainer would give to an unpredictable beast. Whether it was his nature or the effect of his injuries, his sullen presence seemed to hint at a wild temper. For now, the Hound nodded his scorched head in deference to Olenna. She watched their exchange with a bewildered awe at the invisible leash that her boss seemed to have over this cur. She tried not to flinch as his muscular body sank into an adjoining chair. Even though the Hound sat on his haunches, he continued to tower like a long shadow over the tall girl sitting next to him.

"Come now little dove," the Hound commanded at her gruffly as a paw of a hand gripped the edge of his chair.

"No stakeouts will be successful if all yer attention is on my handsome face. This is how you sneak up on evil men..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I'm creeped out by the Boltons, Ilyn Payne takes the cake for me. That man gives me the creeps and thought he would be perfect for a spy story. Meryn Trant as well. 
> 
> Yes I know we all love Baelish, but I've got a soft spot for Clegane. I think the dynamic between each character would be interesting to write...we'll see how this goes.
> 
> Sorry, no Petyr here but needed more backstory to set up their meeting in the next chapter...


	2. Stakeout

For a minute, the novice revelled in the sheer opulence of the Ritz Carlton hotel. Soft piano notes played from unseen speakers. Gold seemed to flow from every corner of the building. The ivory panelled walls were gilded with filigrees as delicate as a lace choker around the fair neck of a princess. The thick Persian rugs that carpeted the polished marble floor looked like they had been taken from an English manor. Sansa imagined the countless dignitaries and royalty that had been hosted here throughout its storied history.

How disappointing that criminals had chosen to taint such an elegant establishment by conducting their business here.

In the hotel restaurant, she watched immaculately dressed ladies recline in cushioned armchairs as they indulged in clotted cream with scones. What if she had been born wealthy? In another life she could’ve been one of them. Her stepmother had always encouraged the lofty fantasies of royal descent that she had as a child. She wondered what it would be like to have a life where the biggest challenge of the day would be how to spend money. In her childhood dreams, there was a nameless handsome man by her side who loved her. In just a few moments, she would be meeting another type of nameless man in entirely different circumstances. Although she didn’t have a clear view of his face, she had studied enough of his photograph to be able to distinguish him from a lineup.

 _Mockingbird._ What sort of man used a small nondescript bird as a pseudonym? A gang that called itself the Devil’s Rejects clearly stated its motive. It wasn’t hard to guess what sort of person associated with that group. Why couldn’t the man use his real name? Sansa pondered as she wandered through the first floor. _But aren’t we all using an alias?_ This evening, she was Alayne Stone. Even her alias had an alias. The Hound strangely referred to her as “little bird.” The affectionate name sounded bizarre from the mutilated man. She replayed the commands that the Hound’s gruff voice had barked out as he showed her a blueprint of the Ritz.

 _Make sure you know the location of all entrances and exits._ Check.

 _Don't forget the location of the security cameras._ Check.

 _Plan the fastest escape route._ Check.

_For chrissake, don’t forget the bloody safe word!_

Today it would be ‘olive,’ a word that Sansa had chosen in acknowledgement of the Hound’s name for her. A stakeout was a sort of olive branch that the police extended to criminals since it wasn’t an outright arrest. _We’ll let you do your bidding while we watch._ No blood would be spilled today. Sansa had arrived an hour earlier than the meeting to scope out the location. To any outside observer, it looked like she was simply admiring the decor.

The Hound had dropped her off a couple of blocks from the Ritz and drove off to find a parking spot. As they had driven to the hotel from headquarters, the Hound had been silent. For someone who was supposed to be a trusted backup, he didn’t try to be her friend. He had merely nodded when she had told him to wish her luck as she stepped out of the car. To his credit, the man had been meticulous as he orientated her on the operation.

Confident that she had done her homework, she slipped into the marble restroom to change into the hotel's staff uniform of a black button down, black blazer and black pencil skirt. How lucky that the staff's uniform was all black since it would help draw less attention to herself. Carefully, she placed a thin wire under her shirt and hooked the small microphone onto her bra. When she finished inserting the minuscule clear coloured earpiece, she spoke quietly towards her collarbone.

"Stone's in place."

"Go get 'em girl," Olenna's voice roused in her ear. "Do not hesitate to use the safe word."

No words of encouragement came from the Hound, but she was confident that he listened to her from his wire. She stood in front of the large mirror and twisted her long red hair into a bun. After she made sure that she was alone, she pulled out a dark brown wig from the shopping bag she had brought with her. Putting it on, she strategically placed bobby pins to keep the wig in place. A girl with bangs and a shoulder length bob stared back at her. Without her trademark hair, she didn’t think that even her stepmother would have recognized hair. She put her street clothes in the shopping bag and dropped it down the trash chute. Satisfied with her appearance, she made a step to the exit. Alayne was ready. Her black pumps sank into the carpet as she slowly made her way back to the lobby.

Greeting passing guests with a smile, she glanced down at her watch. Eight o'clock. From her vantage point by the mahogany panelled bar, she had a perfect view of the entry foyer.

“His car just pulled up. Get in place,” Olenna’s voice spoke into the wire.

A black BMW promptly arrived at the curb and a valet moved to the passenger side to open the door. As her target stepped out of the car, he acknowledged the valet with a pert nod that seemed more measured than polite. His dark-haired head surveyed the entrance slowly. It looked like he was evaluating every face and object. Seemingly satisfied, Littlefinger sauntered into the hotel like he owned it. Just as she had seen from the photo in his file, he was dressed in a tailored dark suit. Two tall and well-built men wearing matching dark tshirts and jeans trailed a few paces behind him. Olenna had mentioned that the man was known to be guarded. _Of course he would show up with an armed entourage_ , she observed. They looked like they had been picked for their intimidating appearance and not for their intelligence. His slender figure stopped in the middle of the lobby, the soft light giving her the first clear view of his face.

For a man who meticulously protected his identity, not even his own face could betray his age. Sansa’s guess could have spanned a spectrum of a decade. The strands of grey that streaked through his well coiffed dark hair hinted that he was obviously older than Sansa, yet there was a boyish youth to his sharp features. His bodyguards towered over him yet he walked with the confidence of a successful businessman who never lost a deal. She was too far away to see the colour of his eyes, but she could see that his expression was calculating as he continued to survey this neutral territory. After a day acquainting herself with the ghastly faces of Payne, Trant and the Hound, she was pleasantly surprised to be dealing with an attractive man. Littlefinger didn't look like the usual heartthrobs worshipped by the tabloids, but it was obvious that he took meticulous care of his appearance. His long well-defined face turned towards her vantage point and she looked away, pretending to be busy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him approach the bar. His two bodyguards slowly trailed him, their stern faces set in matching scowls as they constantly looked around. She moved a little bit closer to the bar, pretending to clean a nearby table. Her body was partly hidden by a column, but she could clearly hear any conversation from the bar.

“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton. What would you like me to get for you?” the bartender asked with trained politeness.

“A sparkling water with ice,” a posh voice commanded.

She stole a quick glance towards the bar and saw that he was facing the entranceway. He stood tall with both feet apart, his eyes constantly scanning the enclosed area. She saw that his two sentries had split up. One of them leaned against the far end of the bar while the other hovered near the entrance. Sansa took shallow breaths as she tried not to draw attention to herself. Busying herself with cleaning, she hoped that keeping her hands active would not draw attention to how they shook slightly with her nervousness. She was fixing the cutlery on a table when a wiry man with a black beard approached the bar. His deeply hooded eyes and thin lips set into a frown as he regarded the other man. They silently sized each other up, neither one willing to be the first to speak. The newcomer gave Littlefinger a black stare before he spoke.

“Half of our shipment went missing. You stole it.” 

Littlefinger wore an indifferent expression as he reached for his glass. His sharp eyes never left the other man as he took a casual sip. His long fingers flexed as he put the drink back down onto the bar.

“Your incompetence is not my problem,” he answered with measured patience. “You only used my place to pick up. Well, you picked up. What happens to your stuff after you leave my premises doesn’t concern me.”

The other man hit the bar angrily with a clenched fist. Even though she was a short distance away, the unexpected sound made Sansa flinch. Unlike her, Littlefinger remained motionless. A tantrum did not make this man lose his ground.

“It’s a bit suspicious, ain’t it? We pick up at your place and then it goes missing the same day along with with our men?”

The man’s voice increased in volume. Littlefinger looked around again, his eyes darting from corner to corner. Even though the other man accused him of theft and murder, he merely looked bored.

"Again, not my problem. Your men must have stole your half. You must not have been paying them well enough. If your decisions are as quick as your accusations, I can only imagine the idiots you and your father trusted with your shipment.”

The man’s mouth contorted into an angry growl at Littlefinger's dismissal. He jolted forward like he was about to hit Littlefinger but then thought better of it. With furious steps, he strode towards the exit. Sansa let out a breath and tried not to look relieved that the stakeout was over. The scene she had witnessed left her with more questions. She went through everything she had heard to relay to Olenna.

Her mind went blank when the unmistakable sound of gunshots fired over the soft piano music that continued to play through the hotel. The shock that coursed through her body temporarily paralysed her. The chords that drifted from the speakers crescendoed to a dramatic climax. Then the screams started, raising in volume as everyone in the vicinity stampeded towards the exit. Everyone except for the people caught in the crossfire at the bar. She saw Littlefinger and the guard closest to the wall dart quickly behind the bar.

Crawling on her hands and knees, she threw herself into the unlit fireplace in front of her and crouched against the wall. Liquor bottles shattered as the black bearded man aimed at them like targets at a shooting arcade. Spilled alcohol and shards of glass rained down onto the bar. The pops of gunfire made her ears sting and she put her hands up to her ears to cover them. It was only then that she remembered the wire she was wearing, but she was too paralyzed from fear to speak. There was a risk that the shooter would hear and kill her on the spot. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she constricted every muscle in her body. Her jaw clenched tightly so no sound could betray her. She curled her arms around her bent legs and bent her body into a tight ball. Maybe she if she squeezed herself hard enough, she would melt into the ground and disappear from danger.

Suddenly, the bar was silent. The classical music over the speakers continued to play. This time, the piano keys were accompanied by the slow drips of the liquor onto the marble floor. Sansa dared not to breathe. She closed her eyes and counted silently like a child in a hiding spot during a hide and seek game. The girl hoped that someone would come to the rescue and find her. A hand touched her arm and she screamed. Light coloured eyes flashed in front of her as the man pulled his hand away. At first she thought they were blue as he crouched down to peer at the girl in her dark hiding place. Sansa was shaking and her head was down to her arms. She flinched when his long fingered hand gripped her arm again. His expression was unreadable even as he spoke comforting words to appease the terrified girl.

“Shhhh...shhhh it’s alright,” his calm voice soothed. “No one is going to hurt you girl.”

Gently, he helped her out of the fireplace. Tremors rolled through her body as she gingerly stood up. Her hands and legs couldn’t stop shaking and her arms came up to form a protective barrier against her chest. Littlefinger looked her over, checking for injuries. The bodyguard walked around the bar slowly with his gun pointed at the ready. His buzz cut head nodded to Littlefinger, indicating that the bar was clear. The bodyguard stepped towards the body of the black bearded man. His gun remained pointed towards the still form sprawled on the marble floor. After he kicked the dead man’s gun away, he crouched down to check that he was dead. The body of the other bodyguard lay near the entrance, his blood staining the pristine marble. Sansa regarded the scene with wide eyes. Her chest started heaving as she felt her stomach come up to her throat. Littlefinger turned her around from the scene and held her close to him.

“ _Shhh…,_ ” he repeated slowly as he held her to his chest and comforted her like a parent would to a small child. Fear seemed to heighten her senses. The expensive wool of his dark suit had absorbed the spilled alcohol into the threads. He felt slightly damp, yet the warmth of his body pressed against hers seemed to transfer some life back into her frigid being. As he stroked her arm gently, she was close enough to smell him. Among the fresh scent of gunpowder and spilled liquor, she could detect mint, coffee, pipe smoke and something earthy...sandalwood? Wrinkling her nose, she looked up at Littlefinger just as he shared a look with the other bodyguard. Raw adrenaline kicked her instinct into action.

“NO,” she screamed as she squirmed away from him. Littlefinger grabbed her hair as her body shook from side to side. The movement caused her wig to come loose and it dropped to the floor as her long red hair freed itself from the bun. The bodyguard’s gun was pointed at her as she looked straight into the dark barrel. _So this was the end._  

She closed her eyes and hoped that death would come quickly. She didn’t see Littlefinger motion to his guard to put down his gun. Her eyes were still clamped shut as she felt a hand slowly run through her hair. Sansa's blue eyes shot open at the unexpected sensation. The normally composed man looked like he had seen a ghost. If she hadn’t been standing so close to him, she wouldn’t have heard the words that softly came out.

_“I thought you were dead...”_

His melancholic words brought a fresh set of tremors to her body. She flinched as his hand continued to slowly stroke through her long hair. He had the most curious expression on his face as ambiguous greys locked onto her clear blues. For a minute, this mysterious man revealed confusion, sorrow, longing and....

“Boss, it would be wise to let me finish the job and leave before the police come." The bodyguard raised his gun towards Sansa for the second time.

The words snapped Littlefinger out of his trance. He looked away from the girl. One hand ran over his face, the act an attempt to regain his composure. It only took a moment before he looked back at Sansa, his dispassionate mask firmly back in place.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice hard.

Sansa opened her mouth just as a single gunshot barreled through the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roose Bolton was in my old draft, but I got rid of him for this version...I don't think the Boltons will feature in this fic, but that can change maybe?


	3. Two Sides of the Coin

Sansa felt sick as she witnessed the body of the second bodyguard thudding onto the marble floor. She was a spy, not a hardened assassin. The evening had turned from a simple stakeout into a bloodbath. Olenna and the Hound had not prepared her for the possibility that the men would turn on each other.

Littlefinger, on the other hand, was simply annoyed. He looked more bothered at the arrival of the cops than at the deaths of two of his associates.

“For fuck’s sake!” he muttered under his breath in irritation even as black helmeted police officers surrounded the pair with their guns pointed at their chests.

“POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPON! HANDS UP!”

Reluctantly, Littlefinger raised his hands and looked towards the shocked girl by his side. Sansa’s blue eyes released a stream of tears that she didn’t bother to blink away as she stared vacantly down at the floor. The salty water made her vision blurry and helped to blot away the cold reality. She had only seen people get shot in movies and now she had witnessed three people die in front of her. As she slowly raised her hands, her body swayed slightly and her chest shuddered with dry heaves. Her mind went blank again as she remained silent. She had done nothing but accept her fate up until now, so why would she try anything different now?

She jolted forward in surprise when a sharp voice sounded in her head.

“Do _not_ reveal your identity to them,” Olenna directed into her wire. She had forgotten that she still wore a wire. Her mouth opened to ask Olenna how she knew that the police had arrived when she checked herself.

 _Think_ , she told herself. _Alayne wouldn’t just give up and stop thinking._ The young girl Sansa was scared and thoughtless. The MI6 agent _Alayne_ would thrive in this situation. Sansa needed to make more of an effort to become her alias. _The job is far from over_.

A female officer approached her as she misread Sansa’s surprise at hearing Olenna’s voice. Thinking that she had wanted to vomit, the officer slowly came over and started to comfort her. Sansa was surprised that she wasn’t checked for weapons. The officer’s own bias at seeing a young girl crying and visibly upset was a relief. If the cops discovered her wearing a wire, her cover would be blown. In their eyes, she was an innocent victim and Littlefinger was the guilty villain. Even though the stakeout had been a disaster, Sansa didn’t want her first assignment to bring down her whole department. If the wire was discovered, she would have to reveal herself to both the officers and to Littlefinger. All the planning that Olenna and MI6 had done would be futile. Thankfully, the officer didn’t press her to say or do anything. The officer brought her over to a nearby table and sat her down on a cushioned chair. Sansa merely nodded her head and remained silent as the officer attempted to comfort her.

A black patch stitched with METROPOLITAN POLICE in white thread was sewn onto the officer’s black bulletproof vest. As she looked around, every officer wore the same label sewn over their hearts like name tags.

The officers had formed a circle around the two and cut off the exit. More people swept through the bar as they checked for additional suspects. Sansa heard an officer report that five dead bodies were found at the scene. While she felt horrible that two innocent people had been gunned down, she was relieved that the body count hadn’t been higher.

An officer carefully crouched to the body of the second bodyguard. He kept his gun pointed at Littlefinger as he reached down and took the dead man’s gun. Another two male officers slammed Littlefinger onto the marble floor and cuffed him as they roughly searched him for weapons.

"Please be careful with my suit. I'm wearing Yves Saint Laurent, not that any one of you seem to appreciate or let alone afford fine design. It would cost a month of your paycheck to tailor any rips," he casually japed from the floor. As he was pat down, the officers looked at each other with incredulous faces when they found that he was wearing a bulletproof vest himself under his expensive suit. One of the officers pulled out a dark green leather wallet from Littlefinger’s pocket.

“Just who are you?” one of the officers spat towards the slightly disheveled man. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and his eyes gleamed with restrained mischief as he stood back up.

“Mockingbird."

Every officer in hearing distance burst out laughing.

“ _Mockingbird_? You think you can take the piss out of us? Stop fucking with us. Now what’s your _real_ name? What kind of a name is that anyway?” 

Littlefinger continued to stare at the officer with unblinking eyes.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to lie to an officer?” his shocked voice responded with disbelief. Littlefinger's tone and submissive posture could have belonged to an innocent man.

“You’ve got my wallet with you. Open it. I’m a truthful man,” his neatly gelled head nodded to the officer. For a man who had just spent his evening being shot at, not one hair was out of place. He looked down at the floor as the officer opened his wallet and took out a driver license.

“Fuck off!” the officer exclaimed. “Look Thom, his name _really_ is Mockingbird. First name is Mocking. Surname’s Bird,” he brandished the license towards his partner. The other officer took the card and read the information with a baffled expression.

“What an unfortunate name. I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could. Your parents have a weird sense of humour,” the officer said in disbelief. “Now, _Mocking_ ,” the officers taunted with aggression. _“_ Explain to me why there are five dead bodies lying here with bullet wounds.”

True to his first name, the Mockingbird put on an anxious expression. Sansa couldn’t help but laugh to herself at the gall this man had to legally name himself Mocking as he broke the law. She wondered why his other alias wasn’t simply Middlefinger.  

“You’ve got me handcuffed, yet you haven’t read out my rights."

Even though his words were timidly spoken, his mind was alert. He wasn’t going to slip up and he had called out the cops for tricking him into speaking away his right to remain silent. _If only the cops could see how deadly he had reacted as he dodged attempted murder._

Littlefinger was the confident businessman she had observed earlier in the evening. In front of the police, the Mockingbird acted like he was in shock at the evening’s events. As she studied the anxious man in front of her, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that he would be an excellent spy if he had chosen to live on the right side of the law.

The officers exchanged a look between them as they debated what to do. Suddenly, a thickset man with a greying beard staggered over to them. The gold buttons of his black uniform blazer threatened to pop off his corpulent body. His chins rolled in waves as his bald head surveyed the scene. Unlike the other officers, he was not wearing a bulletproof vest.

“Is he armed?” his booming voice asked to the two officers who had handcuffed the man. Reluctantly, they shook their heads. A deep groan erupted from the barreled chest of the newcomer.

“Take off his cuffs,” he motioned to one of the officers. His command left the officers dumbfounded and they made no move to take off the man’s handcuffs.

“But, Inspector…” one man pleaded pitifully. “He was caught at the scene of a crime! He did nothing as he stood next to that dead man lying on the floor there!” The officer pointed to the body of the dead bodyguard as the forensics team arrived to catalogue the evidence. “This man did _nothing_ while that man held a gun to that innocent young girl sitting over there!” The officer pointed to Sansa incredulously.

It was Littlefinger who silently observed the officers bickering amongst themselves. His intelligent eyes flickered towards the white-suited forensics team photographing the bodies lying on the floor. He gingerly moved away from them with unassuming steps.

The Inspector jerked his head towards the restrained man and glared at the two officers who had disobeyed his order. Finally, one of the officers stepped forwards and reluctantly removed his handcuffs. The officer glowered at Littlefinger as though he wanted to challenge him to a fight.

“Well, Mr…” the Inspector queried as he addressed the newly freed man.

“Bird. Mocking Bird,” he responded simply as he flexed his wrists.

“Mr. Bird...” the Inspector said skeptically. “Well, _Mr. Bird._ You’re not under arrest. Please help us make our jobs easier. Could you please tell me what happened? The sooner we can get a statement, the sooner you can go.” Even with bullet-riddled corpses lying around, the two men spoke almost politely. They regarded each other warily as they sized each other up.

The Mockingbird looked up, his cheekbones sharp as he puckered his lips together. His brow furrowed in careful thought.

“I didn’t have the pleasure of getting _your_ name, Inspector….”

“Royce. Inspector Royce,” he said dismissively.

“Well _Inspector Royce,_ I was meeting a potential client. I didn’t expect to be meeting someone who came to kill me."

“Why were you wearing a bulletproof vest to a business meeting? Surely you were expecting something bad to happen,” the Inspector retorted sharply. The man only looked away and let out a humourless chuckle.

“I’ve been the victim of unplanned attacks before." He raised one of his long fingered hands. The top button of his shirt was open and his hand reached between the exposed part of his collarbone. His fingers dug into the hollow space at the base of his throat. “I own a nightclub. I have to deal with all sorts of unsavory characters.”

“Does that make you an unsavory character?”

Littlefinger’s eyes gleamed. The moment was temporary and would have been missed by any other observer. Only Sansa had been carefully watching his every movement. His green grey eyes blinked and Littlefinger exited the scene. The Mockingbird only shrugged.

“A man has to find some way to earn an honest living. I pay my taxes. _Both_ income and corporate if I may add.” 

“Then explain to me why you did nothing while that man held a gun to that poor little girl shaking in her seat over there.”

 _Poor little girl_. That dismissal of her character was enough to rile Sansa to action. She didn’t have the intimidating looks that the Hound commanded over other people. She didn’t have the age or experience that Olenna possessed. But now, she had the power to change the situation in front of her. The poor little girl was glad that she had grown up with an active imagination as she took the first initiative.

_"He was protecting me!"_

Sansa’s voice commanded the same silence that the gunshots had brought over the bar. Every eye in the room descended on the auburn haired girl sitting quietly at the table.

"My name is Alayne. Alayne Stone. I work here," she started hesitatingly. "It’s my job to keep an eye on the guests, you know. The man you wrongfully arrested was shot by that man there."

She took a breath and pointed to the body of the black bearded man that lay near the entrance.

“That man,” she nodded towards Littlefinger without looking at him directly, “met the man who shot at him at the bar. He was accompanied by two men who looked like bodyguards? They were talking and I didn’t pay any more attention to them. Then, the black bearded man banged his fist against the bar and I turned to see what was happening. You don’t just lose your temper at a place like this.” She looked around dramatically before she continued. “Then, the man started shooting and I wasn’t looking at what happened _obviously._ ”

Her eyes darted back and forth and she remembered the fear she felt as she hid in the fireplace. She stared towards her hiding place on the left side of the bar.

"The next thing I know, that man helped me out of the fireplace and comforted me. I was startled when the other man there came at me with a gun. I was startled until I saw that he wasn’t aiming at me. He was aiming to my side. At the man with the black beard. He wasn’t sure if he was dead and he was going to check when you arrived. From your angle, it must have looked like he was going to shoot me. You killed the wrong person! You didn’t even ask him who he was or ask him to drop his weapon before you shot him!” Sansa had already been crying before they arrived so it wasn't hard for her to release more dramatic sobs.

She wiped her wet eyes and observed the officers in the room. Most of the faces had dumbstruck or sympathetic expressions on their face when she finished her story. Inspector Royce looked like he had been asked to run a marathon. Then she heard the panicked mutterings.

“ _Didn’t anyone ask him to drop his weapon before we fired?”_

_“What if the press finds out that we shot and killed a man who was protecting a young girl?”_

_“We were defending ourselves! He was armed and they weren’t! How were we supposed to know?”_

The solemn silence of the bar now buzzed with chatter as the police weighed up the possibility of a scandal. Another story of a trigger happy police officer was not going to help the force’s public image.

Among the controlled chaos, Sansa’s wet eyes finally sought out the man she had just saved from prison. The dark-suited man stood calmly as officers gesticulated widely and voices raised in dissent around him. His mouth was fixed in a firm line and betrayed nothing. However she could swear that for the first time, his eyes were smiling at her. Littlefinger thanked her silently as they shared a look of complicity. He was lucky that he hadn’t been armed. But Littlefinger didn’t seem like the type of man who would cover a gun with his own fingerprints. He was a rich man who paid for the privilege of having someone else to do the dirty work.

Sansa broke eye contact and looked down at the table. She had just gambled on a man she didn’t know. Morally upstanding, law-abiding Sansa who had an absolute set of moral ethics had kept a bad man who she didn't even know out of jail. _No_ , she thought. _Alayne_ kept him out of trouble. It was her job to spy on this man of many names.

 _Why had he hesitated? Would he have shot her if the police hadn't arrived?_ It would have been more advantageous for him to kill her on the spot. It was strange that he had honed in on her red hair. Even though he had managed to play everyone around him with his carefully constructed masks, Sansa was the one who had managed to genuinely surprise him. She had been the one to cause him to reveal a raw emotion, if only for a split second. What was it about her face that had stopped him from sentencing her to die?

Paranoia pumped through her blood. _Did he know that she was an undercover agent?_ Waves of panic threatened to wash over her face. If he was as cunning with information as Olenna had said, had he known that she had staked him out all along? She stood up, desiring to leave the room and clear her head. She told the female officer tending to her that she wanted to vomit.

Nausea built up in her stomach as she glanced at the bloodied bodies crumpled on the floor. Pools of red mixed with glass and expensive liquor. The ambush had happened so quickly and her mind was so focused on survival that everything else had been blocked out. Now that time was operating normally and the adrenaline had worn off, she processed the carnage of the bar. Her chest started to contract with dry heaves as the chemical smell of the spilled alcohol combined with the sharp mercury smell of blood. Careful not to step on anything, she walked out of the bar and headed to the bathroom.

She turned on the cold water tap. The icy water helped keep her thought process logical. As she washed her face and hands, she thought about the ramifications of her decision. How would Olenna react to her own agent's call to go off script? She tore off her wire and earpiece and disposed them in the trash chute. Sansa appraised her reflection framed by the gold panelled oval mirror.The adrenaline had mostly left her body, but her eyes still red and slightly swollen. Is this what it meant to be an agent? To do questionable things for the greater good? She didn't know him. She didn't care about him. All she knew was that he associated with bad people and probably did not deserve to be free on the streets. But, her life had been in his hands and _he hadn't taken it._

Now that she had his attention, she hoped it would be easier to extract information. Gain his trust. Get proof. Implicate him. Lock him up. Save the day.

As Sansa, her lie to the police had been out of character. As Alayne, it had been strangely thrilling to manipulate people far older and more experienced than her to play a situation into her favour. And law enforcement on top of that! A darker voice unnervingly like the man she had just saved drawled in her mind. _Admit that y_ _ou liked it._ She watched herself shake her head in her reflection. Washing her face again, she attempted to regain some composure.

She stepped out of the bathroom and walked back to the bar to give a statement to the police. The officers reassured her that her identity would not be released to the press. They were just as keen as her to prevent details from leaking to the press. Interestingly, no one questioned her as to why she was wearing a wig. Had political correctness extended to hairstyle choices? Either way, it made it easier for Sansa to not have to explain herself. It was best for Alayne’s paper trail to be minimal.

His dark-suited figure was absent from the mass of black and white uniforms. No one noticed her as she left the hotel. Sirens blared and lights flashed from the police cars parked outside. A crowd of bystanders had gathered behind the yellow cordon set up by the police. Several people were even taking selfies in front of the crime scene. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realise that she was rambling down a deserted side street.

A car abruptly screeched into a quick halt on her right. Her heart stopped as she recognised the black BMW. _He's come back to kill me_ , she realised with dread. A confident voice drifted from the rolled down passenger window.

"What kind of a man would I be if I didn't express my gratitude to my saviour? Alayne, isn't it?" 

Speechless, she turned to face him and stared. He chuckled.

"Let me at least take you home. You don't want to be alone if random men start shooting at you out of nowhere," he deadpanned. “Besides, it’s cold outside and you’re only wearing your uniform without a coat.” The events of the evening had numbed her to the point that she hadn’t even felt the evening chill. She finally let out a shiver when his eyes scanned her body, taking in her bare legs.

She bit back a retort. _And I would be safer with you?_ It seemed like a bad idea to get into a car with a man who seemed to have a severe personality disorder. Instead she nodded and opened the backseat passenger door.

She was still wearing the skirt that had been part of the hotel’s uniform and she pondered the best way to enter the car without exposing herself. He smirked at her predicament and briefly looked away as she slipped into the leather seat beside him.

"Where do you live?"

Her mind raced. She tried to remember the false address that was listed on Alayne's driving license. He misread her hesitation.

"Don't worry, I'm just trying to repay your good deed by making sure you get home safe. I might be many things, but I'm not a stalker or anything like that," he said to her softly.

"Hackney," she replied, thankful that she remembered the address. She gave the driver directions to the flat, hoping that the false address had a tube station nearby. She cursed herself for not having the foresight to thoroughly educate herself on her own backstory.

“How are you feeling?” his voice sounded concerned, yet his face remained reticent. She couldn’t decipher which man was speaking to her now. Littlefinger? Mockingbird? Or his true identity?

After everything that had happened that evening, the mundane question made her laugh aloud as she looked out the window.

“As fine as someone can be after they’ve witnessed people die and then helped a stranger get out of jail. I don’t know whether this is either the worst day or the best day of work,” she admitted.

His mouth twitched upward as he let out a small grin. She couldn’t imagine what the man sounded like if he laughed. He didn’t seem like the type of man who openly expressed mirth yet here he sat comfortably beside her. His demeanor strangely passed as almost amiable for someone who had almost ordered her death. 

"Although I am glad not to have to spend money on bail, I do have to ask the obvious. Why did you help me?"

_Because you need to be free now so that I can nab you later._

"You didn't kill me. Why didn't you?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

He studied her face before he looked away and gazed out the window.

"Do you wish that I had? That could be easily remedied." 

"I don't think I deserve to die because some random crazy chose to shoot up my workplace. But you aren't answering my question. Why did you hesitate?"

The corners of his mouth turned up again in amusement.

“It’s wise of you to call someone out for evading a question. Most people don't pay attention." The car became quiet until he let out a small sigh. "You might have reminded me of someone I knew," he said eventually before he changed tack.

"Why were you wearing a wig? Why do you hide that lovely red hair?"

"I'm trying a new look before I commit to permanently dying my hair. Us girls are so capricious with these fashion trends," she replied, not skipping a beat as she looked away.

He appraised her without speaking, his eyes pensive.

“You’re beautiful as you are. Why change what you were blessed with?”

She looked back at him. The dark interior of the car seemed to make his intelligent grey green eyes glow. She let out a nervous smile and turned her head away to look out the window again. A voice warned her not to fall for false flattery, but she shoved it aside. One nice compliment wasn’t going to kill her. Wasn’t it?

The lights of the city flashed by as early evening descended over the city. _How lucky that they had left the hotel to join the post work traffic_ , she thought sarcastically. Horns beeped as their car was gridlocked between a row of red double decker buses. She craned her neck to get a sense of what part of town they were in, but the shopfronts and grey buildings were indistinct. The close quarters of the car amplified the intimidation, attraction and repulsion that she felt for the man. One part of her was grateful that they would be able to spend more time together so she that she could further gauge his character. Another part of her wanted to get out of the car and run before he changed his mind like he had done earlier that evening.

After a moment he spoke.

"Lying to the police is a serious offence. You chose to gamble on a man you don't know rather than help a trusted stalwart of modern society. Most people wouldn't have taken the risk."

She turned her head from the car window and looked directly in his eyes.

"Like I said, you had the chance and you chose to spare me. I had the chance to turn you in and I didn't. We're even and we don't owe each other anything."

The man regarded her with a bemused expression yet said nothing. She thought that his eyes twinkled mischievously in the evening light before she looked away.

The driver spoke.

"Here you are miss. Made good time considering the traffic, eh? Price we have to pay to live in London."

The car stopped in front of a block of dingy flats. When she turned to look at him again, he was regarding her with a wide smirk. Drumming his hand on the space between them, he looked like he was mulling something over. He came to a decision.

He stepped out of the car and opened her passenger door. Ever cautious, his eyes surveyed the area. He observed the sparse passersby as he helped her out of the car. They were silent, both of them lost in thought,  as he accompanied her to the front door of the building.

"I know you said that we don't owe anything to each other, but I feel like I owe you more than you think,” he started as they reached the front door. He turned to face her. “I don’t think that any other young girl would have thought that fast on her feet while people are getting shot left and right,” he said lightly. He reached inside his blazer and pulled out what looked like a card from the concealed pocket. Their fingers grazed each other as he handed her the black card.

It looked like a credit card, but it felt heavy in her hand. It was embossed with an emerald mockingbird and fitted with a microchip. She turned it over and was surprised that there were no names, numbers, or an address listed on the card.

He studied her expression and merely nodded towards the card in her hand. "That gives you access to my club in Soho. I really do own a club. I wasn't just saying that to the police. Come over whenever you fancy and you can order anything you want on the house."

He said something about his club being hard to find as he gave her directions to locate it. She tried not to smile as she listened to him. She wanted to laugh and scream out loud in triumph. Olenna would be proud of the redemption that she now held in her hands.

"Thank you for the ride home...and for not killing me," she said with a small smile.

A slightly wistful expression came over his controlled face.

"The pleasure is mine, Alayne," he spoke slowly.

His eyes never left hers as he took a small step forward. Sansa thought that he was going to kiss her and she felt nervously unprepared. Instead, he reached down and gently took her right hand in his. His touch was warm as he drew her right hand to his lips. Sansa’s breath hitched slightly at the feel of his mouth on the top of her palm.

She involuntarily blushed at the old fashioned gesture. She had met Littlefinger. She had met Mockingbird. Out of all the personalities that she had seen this man express tonight, she was definitely not expecting him to have an old school romantic side. This man was surprising. An unpredictable man was dangerous.

"Good night...sir," she said with hesitation. _Which name could she call him?_

He looked like he was about to reply, but his mouth only betrayed a small smile. Again, she couldn’t read his expression as he searched her eyes for something only he knew. The moment passed and he let go of her hand and walked back to his car.

She made a show of trying to find her keys as she carefully glanced behind her to watch the dark car speed away into the night.

Glancing down at her watch, she waited at the entranceway for half an hour before she started walking to the tube station that she had spotted from the car. She danced down the street, drunk on her own triumph. This was definitely _not_ how she had expected the evening to end. Her stakeout had been compromised. People had died. She had saved a man who was going to let her die from going to jail. The man seemed to fancy in her in a strange way. Now he had _given_ her access to a place that no other agent had infiltrated. Passersby stared at her warily as she laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all.

Elation had engulfed her so completely that she hadn’t noticed that a nondescript car parked a short distance from the apartment block had been silently tailing her from the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter made sense. 
> 
> I wanted to really show the different personas of Petyr. He is Littlefinger. He is the Mockingbird. He is Petyr (as Sansa will find out later...she hasn't earned the right to know his name yet ^^). I think that Petyr is really good at acting like he's not shady lol. He gloated his shadiness too much in my previous version of the story. I feel like he would be feigning innocence to everyone while he continues being bad behind everyone's backs.
> 
> Sansa herself is finding that she is starting to develop a split personality. Alayne is a "safe" way for her to air the so called darker side we all know that she has...
> 
> Thank you for reading. Have a great weekend :)


	4. Your Secret is Safe with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help it, I am loving the Hound and am looking forward to developing his character...
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.
> 
> Visual inspirations for the Mockingbird:  
> -Kinetic 3-D chandelier at the Colosseum club in Jakarta, Indonesia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MUYycEQPSPg  
> -White interior decor inspired by Pure nightclub in Las Vegas

“This is how you kill a man.” ~~~~

Dinner plate sized hands that had probably snapped many a neck pointed towards his groin. Sansa laughed. The Hound’s face contorted into a grimace that made it seem like his scars would burst open.

“It’s not funny. How would you know what the hell it feels like? Bloody fucking murder,” he muttered. “A well placed kick will be able to bring down even a man as tall as me. It’ll be able to buy you time to plan an escape or your next attack.”

“Since you’ve been kicking my ass the whole day mind if I return the favour?” she joked as she wiped the sweat off her brow and readjusted her ponytail.

"Complain all you want little bird. One day, these exercises will save your life."

As she took off her shoes and sat down on the cushioned mats laid out on the floor, every muscle in her body screamed in pain. The Hound was a most intimidating workout coach. His distinct face made him a well known character at the bureau, yet the other people in the room kept a safe distance away from him and Sansa.

The massive underground space looked and smelled like a normal gym. The scent of sweat and tears emanated from every corner of the room. Machines to train every muscle in the body were lined in neat rows around the room. In a far corner, two people were sparring in a boxing ring. What made the place different from a standard gym was the rack of weapons that were used as training simulations. Unloaded guns and blunt knives were used as practice objects in self-defense lessons against an armed assailant.

The Hound had been relentless in her training today. As soon as she had felt like quitting an exercise, he cheered her up by rasping out disturbing scenarios.

_“You’re caught in a corner little bird. The murderers are closing. You’re going to die little bird. Fly for your life! One more set now.”_

_“Ilyn Payne won’t stop hunting you until he cuts you in half with his scythe.”_

_“Do you want to end up on a cold slab? Stop then. I’ll see you again at the morgue.”_

Although his words were grim, there was a morbid honesty to them. Raw honesty was definitely not a prized virtue in the compact halls of MI6. While Sansa was learning to be a better liar, the Hound remained harshly direct. As grim as he looked, the man was never cruel to her. Whenever he allowed short breaks from their workout regime, he would grab a bottle of ice-cold water or a fresh towel and silently hand them to Sansa before they continued.

After the stakeout, Olenna had insisted on increasing Sansa’s self-defense training by granting her access to one of the underground floors at MI6. Sansa had always thought that her workplace looked disappointingly ordinary when she had first started working there. She shouldn’t have been surprised that a building that hosted spies would be designed to house its own secrets.

After a grueling start on the machines, the Hound had brought Sansa over to the middle of the room to stretch out on the mats while he went to the rack of training tools. The expanse of his back hid the selection of practice weapons from view. Satisfied in his decision, he turned around and walked back to Sansa with wide strides. The unloaded gun looked like a mere toy in his bear paw of a hand. She stood up from the mat and kept her eyes on the weapon.

“The one who holds the gun holds the most power,” he rasped seriously. “If you can’t protect yourself, you might as well die. Weapons were designed for one purpose and for one purpose only. _To kill._ ”

He stopped a few paces away from Sansa and faced her.

“Now if you happen to lose your weapon, you need to think and act fast. _Never make an assumption with a gun._ Assumptions will get you killed. There are two facts you need to know about a gun. The first is that the minute you touch a gun, it _will_ fire at you. The second is that as soon as the gun is fired, the shooter’s arm and body will draw back from the recoil. Now that you know those two facts, you will be able to think about how you can defend yourself.”

The Hound’s trunklike arm raised across the gap between them. He brought the gun against Sansa’s forehead.  The action was disconcerting as his grotesque face stared her down. _How many people had stared down a barrel and realized that the Hound would be the last thing they saw before he killed them?_

“Because you know that the gun will fire at you, the first priority you have is to get out of the line of fire. Duck your head down and raise your hands up to grab the barrel from the bottom up.” As he continued his instructions, she mimicked the movements slowly to get a feel for the actions.

“Kick the shooter’s groin. At that point, the shooter will probably have fired a shot. I told you already that the shooter’s body will step backward from the impact. That’s when you attack. Press the gun against the shooter’s belly and quickly yank it out of their hands. Get as much distance as you can from the shooter and point their gun towards them. Now let’s practice.”

Sansa wasn’t a small girl, but she had thought that she would have no chance defending herself against a man like the Hound. He could sense her nervousness and coaxed her slowly into a repetition of his instructions. She was grateful to get to practice self-defense movements against the gigantic man because she wouldn’t be as intimidated to face even a man like Meryn Trant.

“Not bad,” he nodded at her after he declared the lesson over for the day. “The little bird might be fearsome enough to kill someone like me one day,” he said flatly as he turned away. “Go up to Olenna before you go,” he called out as he left.

Sansa was still intimidated by the Hound, but she wasn’t as afraid as she had been the first time they had been introduced. When Olenna had told her that he had been following her from the hotel to make sure that she was safe, she initially felt touched at the stoic man’s gesture. When she had thanked him for looking out for her, his reaction had been direct.

_“Why are you thanking me little bird?” he snapped gruffly. “You thought I was ‘looking out for you?’ Olenna ordered me to follow you so I did.”_

Sansa had to remind herself that he was named his alias for a reason. He was a barely tamed dog that would bite the hand of anyone that tried to pet him, yet he would tear apart anyone who harmed his masters.

After she finished cleaning herself off in the gym showers, she made her way back up to Olenna’s office. Her boss had been peeved at Sansa for throwing away her wire, for choosing not to use the safe word and for not noticing that the Hound had been tailing her and Littlefinger from the hotel. However, all had been forgiven as soon as Sansa had dangled a certain heavy black card in front of the old woman’s wrinkled face.

The Queen of Thorns had a peculiar expression as she sat behind her desk and perused some files. Judging by the untouched mug of Earl Grey that was left to steam on the desk, Olenna was mulling over a _particularly_ challenging problem. Yet she looked up from her work and gave Sansa an easy smile when she entered her office. Grateful to rest her muscles, Sansa sat down and settled comfortably into the thick cushioned chair. Olenna closed the file she was perusing and looked across the desk with amusement.

“How did training go?”

“Grueling is a massive understatement,” she emphasised with a loud sigh. “It’s no wonder the Hound is built like a tank.”

“The better shape you’re in, the better you’ll be at dodging death,” Olenna said in a flat voice. “My old bones are too brittle for field work, obviously, but someone needs to get paid to sit behind a desk and talk into your wires when the shit hits the fan.”

Two age-spotted hands folded together on top of the desk. Olenna looked like she was going to divulge some bad news as Sansa continued to look on expectantly.

“Can you take out the card that Littlefinger gave you?” Sansa reached into her pocket and took it out of her wallet. The sleek card felt cold as she handed it over the desk to her boss. Olenna looked down and turned the black card back and forth in her thin hands. Her eyes remained focused on the card as she spoke.

“There are an arsenal of weapons that agents can use to their disposal,” she started slowly. “Hard tactics like bullets and knives sometimes are the only way we can get what we want. However, there are other options...the _soft_ tactics.” Olenna placed the card on top of the desk and stared at her with a shrewd expression. “Alayne, do you know what a honey trap is?”

“No,” she shook her head as her eyes turned to the side in anxious thought.

”A honey trap is one of the oldest and simplest forms of manipulation that an agent can use to extract information from a target.” Olenna tore her gaze from the card in her hands and looked at Sansa.

”An attractive agent lures a target, typically a male, by lavishing them with attention to gain their trust in return for certain...favours. The target then spills all their secrets to the agent. By the time the target realises the ploy, it’s usually too late.”

Sansa pondered her boss’s words.

”Sounds easy enough. A pretty girl can get a man to talk with a little bit of flirtation. But that wasn’t in the training manual,” she responded innocently.

Olenna barked with laughter.

”My dear, it takes a little _more_ than simple flirtation. To set up a honey trap, the best weapon a woman can have is the one between her legs. There’s a reason why the phrase _pillow talk_ exists.”

Olenna stopped laughing and continued.

”Littlefinger is a curious one. I told you before that we never had an agent successfully infiltrate his club. We tried sending a variety of female agents, all of them looking like one of those model types, to try to seduce him for information. None of them got a word out of him so we tried sending a couple male agents. No one was ever successful, to the bafflement of the entire agency. I thought about how bloody difficult it would be to extract information from someone _asexual_ .” Olenna shuddered. “ _You,_ however, seem to have something that makes him tick. Use it wisely to your advantage.”

Sansa thought carefully. Was her boss basically telling her that she would have to whore herself out for the job? Did this still constitute as a necessary dirty act for the greater good?

“So this is how I start my promising career in espionage. Save a man from jail only to sleep with him later. I won’t do anything that I’m not comfortable with,” Sansa said with conviction.

Olenna regarded her with amusement.

“Where exactly does it say in my contract that I have to bed my targets?”

“You signed up to serve Queen and country my dear. Okay, choose the path of the high and mighty. We’ll see how long it takes for you to get anything from Littlefinger. If you want out of this assignment, say no more and I’ll have you back behind a desk, filing paperwork and re-organising the office stationary,” she threatened.

Sansa eyes narrowed into thin slits as she huffed in annoyance at her boss’s attempt at blackmail. _Whore yourself out or the only thing that you’ll be riding is a chair behind a desk,_ her boss seemed to say _._ Cat-like eyes flashed in her thoughts. He had been charming as he had dropped her off at the false flat. She would’ve _almost_ called him a gentleman. _But a gentleman wouldn’t be associated with a gang like the Devil’s Rejects. A gentleman wouldn’t have allowed his henchman to shoot you dead._

”Men are easy, darling,” Olenna reassured. “He’s older and you are young and beautiful. If you can get him to think only with his other head, the closer we’ll be able to bring down the Rejects.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is. It worked for Cleopatra. It worked for Marilyn Monroe. It will work for you.”

She looked away, her eyes pensive. _How would shriveled Olenna know?_ She shuddered as she tried to steer her mind out of that thought. _Obviously_ there wouldn’t be a chapter about honey traps in the field handbook. How ridiculous would it sound? _First, the agent brings the target to bedroom. Agent takes off their clothes. Then the agent and the target make good use of a bed. In the afterglow, the agent extracts information from the target’s vulnerable state._

Sansa’s experience with men had been awkwardly experimental to say the least. At university she had buried herself in books, not in the beds of her classmates. The care of her dying foster mother had led her to live at home while she commuted to school. Now her next assignment would be to bait a confident older man who was undoubtedly more experienced? The type of woman she pictured alongside a man like Littlefinger was gorgeous yet coldly unattainable. God she was _way_ out of her league. A slick voice drawled low in her memory.

_You’re beautiful as you are. Why change what you were blessed with?_

_The pleasure is mine, Alayne._

Unconsciously, she rubbed the top of the hand that he had kissed. She smiled shyly to herself at the oddly chivalrous gesture. Her mouth turned downwards into a frown as a disturbing recollection entered her thoughts.

_I thought you were dead._

A dead lover? She remembered the horror and melancholic desire that had briefly surfaced out of his cool exterior. Was that the weakness she would have to exploit? The thought of channeling a dead woman to seduce him made her recoil.

”Prepare yourself,” Olenna’s wry voice cut through her thoughts. The knowing look on her face hinted at danger.

”This game is about to get dirty.”

* * *

It was only fitting for the Mockingbird to be located in the central neighbourhood of Soho. The neon-lit theatres, nightclubs and restaurants that lined the blocks glittered invitingly to the human need to be entertained. People flocked to the area looking for a certain kind of kick that only emerged after dark. While the area had been gentrified over the years, the magic still hadn’t diminished. Sex, drugs and rock and roll were readily available - if only one knew where to look. Soho was also the historical heart of the capital’s sex industry, a fact which Sansa found even more disconcerting as she walked into the night.

A drag queen, tottering in heels higher than hers, glided by her with an entourage of chiselled men. In comparison to the gaudily dressed transvestites that bustled about, Sansa had opted for a simple Prussian blue dress with a low neckline and black patent heels.

As she had ruffled through her sparse closet earlier that evening, she couldn't help thinking that she didn't have any clothes fit for a femme fatale undercover agent. _Could a shopping spree be billed to the Queen as ‘information gathering material’?_ Sansa thought of his expensive suits as she tossed clothes onto her bed, failing to imagine anything worthy of being worn to an establishment owned by a man like Littlefinger. If his bespoke suits were a reflection of his aesthetic, a pair of jeans and trainers wasn't going to seduce him or let alone make her past the bouncer. Everything she had ever excelled at before needed to be properly studied and analysed after determining the proper course of action. Ambiguous, non-quantifiable concepts like sex appeal completely baffled her. It had been her red hair that had triggered his reaction. Tonight, she let it fall in loose waves around her shoulders.

She would enter the Mockingbird unarmed. The discovery of a wire or a weapon on her body would lead to awkward questions. No one would be able to come to her aid. She flexed her muscles instinctively as she remembered the Hound’s self-defense-without-a-weapon tactics.

Tonight, her body would be her weapon. As Sansa turned a street corner and headed down a sidestreet, she put her hands in her coat and tried to steel her nerves. She looked for the number that Littlefinger had indicated and stopped in confusion.

FISH & CHIPS was emblazoned in silver on the black signage over the entranceway. Through the large window, she could see people eating at simple tables. The smell of fried oil wafted out the simple door.

Certain that she had arrived at the wrong place, she walked around. Across the street on the other corner was an Italian restaurant. She went past the fish and chip shop and turned up the corner. There was only a closed real-estate office and what seemed to be residential entrance ways. She walked back towards the fish and chip shop and crossed the street to fully stare at it. The place took up the entire corner, yet there weren’t that many people inside it. People walked past the nondescript shop in favour of the bustling pubs next to it. Sansa barely noticed a smartly dressed couple enter the chip shop.

 _Have I taken the piss?_ Of course a man whose legal name was Mocking Bird _would_ have a strange sense of humour. _Here’s what you get for getting me out jail - a grease-fuelled heart attack wrapped up in newspaper._ He definitely didn’t mention anything about food when he had given her directions. She mulled her thoughts over with increased frustration. Her feet were starting to hurt from her heels as she shifted her weight uncomfortably. Sansa gave the place a last glance as she made to leave. Her subconscious seemed to spot a discrepancy so she walked towards the shop and gazed inside the window again.

The smartly dressed couple she saw enter the shop had not exited. Curious, she stepped inside the entrance and looked around. None of the kitchen staff acknowledged her as she looked for the people she had seen earlier. They weren’t seated among the few people eating. She walked towards the back of the shop to the hallway where the loos were located. She looked up and saw an array of security cameras strategically placed in the corridor. _A run of the mill chip shop definitely didn’t need that much security unless it had something to hide_ , she thought with increasing confidence.

Two doors were located at the end of the empty hallway. Both of the doors had the circular signage that indicated that the bathrooms were unisex. However, the left door was locked like a hotel room with a key card system underneath the handle. Curious, she stepped towards it and took out her black card. She hesitated for a moment before she inserted it into the slot with the microchip facing down.

The door beeped and clicked open. Tentatively, she reached for the handle and opened it slowly. She stepped into a small space that was darkly lit and looked like a coat check area. Spying a booth, she went over and handed her coat to the attendant. Unlike the restaurant it smelled subtly fresh, like cream had been mixed with five spice. A few other people were patiently standing in line as bouncers checked their cards. A metal detector was the last checkpoint that needed to be passed before entry to the main door was allowed. As people were cleared to enter, she tried to catch glimpses of them entering the main club. Flashes of light accompanied with the beats of a heavy bass came out briefly when the door opened a sliver.

Finally it was her turn. She gave her card to a bouncer and walked through the metal detector. The bouncer inserted her card's microchip into the bottom of his handheld machine and looked down at the screen. She wondered what sort of information popped up on the small monitor. After a moment, he nodded and handed back her card.

"Enjoy yourself miss," he indicated to the simple dark door behind him.

Her heels clacked slowly as Sansa approached the door. She opened the door and let herself be transported.

In front of her was a stairway. Every step was lit up with LED lights. A few people were lingering on the steps and chatting as she made her way up and entered the main area. The enormous multi-leveled space was centred with a massive kinetic chandelier that moved up and down. The chandelier was lit by many strands of LED lights that flashed in different colours and patterns. It moved like a fluorescent jellyfish as the neon lights synchronised with the beats of the music. Sansa could only stare entranced for a moment at the dazzling display. Remembering that this was an intelligence gathering mission, she tore her gaze away from the contraption and headed to the sleek bar. Although it was clearly well-stocked, Sansa opted for an ice water to start.  

Her eyes scanned the white couches and booths that surrounded the main floor as she sought out a certain raven-haired man. Everybody in the room seemed to be illuminated by the colourful laser beams. Cocktail waitresses walked past her with trays as she took a seat on one of the empty couches and placed her drink on the low table in front of her. Many of the people that danced and lounged around her were model gorgeous. However she was surprised to see quite a few elderly men and haggard looking women in the crowd. Even though the club was packed with bodies and there was a lack of windows, the space felt pleasantly cool and well ventilated. Sansa crossed her legs and took a sip of the cold water as she continued to scope out the club.

“It’s immensely satisfying to see that your search for my establishment didn’t end up frying your brains out in frustration,” a low voice drawled dangerously behind her. Of course the Mockingbird would perch himself on the periphery, ever watchful of his territory. Littlefinger had come out to play.

Sansa smiled as she kept her back turned to him.

“I’m not the type of girl that’s easily battered by a challenge,” she rebutted.

She heard a chuckle as his dark form stepped forward and stood confidently in front of her frame of vision. Her smile was wiped off as soon as she looked at him. The bright colours of the LED lights lit up his sharp face in brief flashes that made his eyes gleam with mischief. Then the lights flashed away and darkness enveloped him back into the shadows. He had forgone a blazer today, opting for a black long sleeve button down and dark slacks that showed off his slim figure. As his dark eyes raked over her figure, Sansa couldn’t stop her leg from jiggling nervously. His eyes flickered briefly down to her leg and then shot back up to her face. An almost polite smile came across his face as he bent slightly to reach for her hand.

“Miss Stone,” he said smoothly as he brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to see you again in a more enjoyable place.” He released her hand and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

“Mr...Bird. You do look like the sort of man who would hide London’s most exclusive club in a fish and chip shop. Most people would have walked right on by. I do have to ask - why?”

“Convenience,” he deadpanned. “Do you know how hard it is to find a decent fish and chip shop here in central London of all places? Globalisation and what not. It’s a shame you didn’t indulge yourself...the chips are perfectly crispy. Every bite leaves you wanting more…” his eyes were unnerving as he looked at her. “But the lady didn’t come here to indulge herself in mere...chips. Didn’t she?”

He paused, his eyes direct. “But why do you think that I look like the type of man who would hide his own club?”

Sansa held her breath. A part of her wished that she was wearing a wire so that Olenna could direct her on how to set herself up as a honey trap. 

“If this place is hidden from the general public, then there must be something... _illegal_ going on here,” she started. Her eyes observed the people dancing as the chandelier maneuvered itself into an intricate pattern. “But, except for that impressive chandelier, I don’t see anything different from a standard nightclub,” she dismissed.

“There’s always more than meets the eye, Miss Stone. My Mockingbird has an infamous reputation for good reason,” he countered.

“Maybe you just built up this ‘infamous reputation’ yourself like a business sham that places do to boost business.”

“People want what they can’t have,” he acquiesced. “And that is a very smart business model, but you forget an important fact,” he looked at her smugly. “In the wide spectrum of wants in this city, I’m the only supplier and business is booming.”

“By wide spectrum...that dangerously straddles both sides of the law don’t you think?”

“That’s my favourite position to be in,” his eyes shone playfully as he smirked widely at her.

When a cocktail waitress suddenly stepped forward to get orders, she was pitifully grateful to be saved from continuing the conversation.

“Welcome to the Mockingbird,” the beautiful woman said, her gaze directed only at Sansa. “What would you like?” The waitress had left the end of the sentence open in a remark that Sansa almost didn’t notice. She wasn't specifically asked for her drink order and there weren’t any menus on any of the tables. Littlefinger had offered her to have anything on the house. What constituted _anything_?

"One tequila shot with lemon," she requested as she handed the waitress her card. The waitress was going to take the card before she glanced at Littlefinger. He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Sansa. The waitress nodded and turned towards the bar, leaving Sansa with the card in her hand.

“When I walked into that hotel, I didn’t expect to be shot at and then have a beautiful saviour help me escape jail. I would’ve hated to get my suit dirty in a commonplace cell,” he muttered. “You saved me from just another dull weekday afternoon. Nothing bores me more than predictability. I wasn’t joking when I said that you could have anything on the house.”

“Is this a one-time offer?”

“So I take it that I expect to see your lovely face gracing these infamous halls in the future?” He smirked widely. “Outside of random shootouts and the manipulation of evidence, I don’t know what kind of adrenaline rush you expect to find in my establishment,” his voice trailed off as he looked at her expectantly.

_I was looking for you. But now that I’ve found you, I don't know what to do._

Sansa nervously reached for her glass of water and took a large sip from the straw. Littlefinger watched silently, his eyes fixed on the straw between her lips.

"Let me guess…” his eyes raked her over again. The first time, his look had seemed lascivious. This time, he looked like a businessman appraising the value of a commodity. She vaguely wondered if he was studying her attire like a bouncer screening who was deemed worthy to enter a club.

“Lightly applied makeup - not that you need it - a dark dress, heels under three inches…” he observed before the waitress came over again with Sansa’s order. She silently placed a shot of amber coloured tequila, a slice of lemon and a sugar cube on the table before she walked away.

His eyes bore into hers and she was grateful that she had ordered a shot of liquid courage. The nervous dread at the thought of having to seduce this man for the good of her country filled her again. Clearing her throat, she flipped her hair and reached to grab her drink. She made sure to push her breasts together as she leaned forward. A low cut neckline and cleavage _always_ worked on any hot-blooded straight male. Didn’t it?

"You must be a dangerous man if someone tried to have you killed."

The man didn’t elaborate or react to her brazen moves. Instead, he looked away and observed the other people around them.

“I'm just a simple club owner," he shrugged. "I don't know why anyone would want to do harm to someone who runs a business out of making people happy. Maybe that miserable man was jealous of that," he casually dismissed. "You’re forgetting the sugar cube by the way,” he said in a flat voice as he continued to watch the surroundings. “Drop it into the tequila. It’ll smooth the edges quite nicely.” He looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “And make sure to sip, not swallow down in one gulp. You have to slowly swirl it around in your mouth to fully appreciate the subtle tastes.”

She shifted in her seat as her stiffly controlled hands dropped the sugar cube into the tequila. Her expression tried not to reveal her dismay at how casually he had tossed aside her advances. She threw her head back and tossed the entire shot down in defiant disobedience. The amber liquid tasted subtly woodsy and the sugar gave it a pleasant aftertaste. Expensive it may have been, but the alcohol still burned her throat. Sansa grimaced as she tried not to cough.

He was dangerously silent as he regarded her with a pointed expression.

“By all means, don’t hold in your cough. That’s what happens when you don’t appreciate fine things."

Sansa wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction even though she knew that he was right. She gulped emphatically to ease her burning throat and reached for the slice of lemon with annoyance. She glared at him as she bit down on it. The juice dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and she bolted forward in her seat to prevent the liquid from staining her dress. Littlefinger looked at her with a controlled expression.

“That time, you should have swallowed,” his eyes glimmered.

Sansa huffed as she made to reach for a napkin. Thinking better of it, she brought her index finger to the wet corner of her mouth and slowly cleaned off the trail of liquid that had trickled down to her chin. She licked her finger boldly as her eyes challenged him to react. Their exchanges the whole evening had prompted her to test him, to see what lay behind the man's thinly veiled words. 

Littlefinger studied her with a blank expression before he reached over to the table and grabbed a napkin. Silently, he handed it to her as his head shook from side to side in slow amusement. She re-adjusted her long hair to hide her blush.

“You said yourself that you aren’t a woman who gives up on a challenge. You don't need to do...that. Look around you,” his well-coiffed head gestured to the dance floor. “If you want to bait an inexperienced young boy looking for an easy fuck, my club is crawling with options.”

“Are you saying that you think I’m easy?” 

“Continue with your school girl hair flips that you think comes off as alluring and you’ll have no trouble finding a one night stand."

“I’m not looking for a one night stand!” 

His smirk meant nothing but trouble as he scooted closer to her. Her body went rigid as she felt the side of his body touch hers. She could smell the same elegantly masculine scent that she had noticed at the hotel. He sat close enough for her to notice the fine lines on his face that delicately betrayed his age.

“That makes two of us,” his voice almost purred. “Then tell me. What do you hope to find at my club tonight Alayne?”

“That’s a secret,” she said quietly as she tried not to fidget.

He nodded slowly as a small grin escaped his otherwise controlled expression.

“You’ve come to the right place then. My club _caters_ to secrets. Whatever wish you have locked up in your heart - no matter how illegal or frowned upon outside these walls - can be indulged in at the snap of your club card.”

His eyes were penetrating as he moved even closer. The deep bass of the music and the excited chatter of the crowd faded away as she lost herself in mossy green.

“Share your secret with me, Alayne. What do you desire?” his voice low as he softly coaxed her.

He was close enough to kiss her and when he leaned in, she couldn’t help but close her eyes in anticipation.  _Was he going to make the first step into her trap?_

She couldn't tell if it was the feel of his hot breath or the words that he whispered deeply into her ear that made her shudder. 

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me... _Sansa Stark_."


	5. Go Ask Alice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone has a pretty bad drug trip...by the end, it's pretty dark...
> 
> \- Inspiration for the infinity room: Yayoi Kusama's 'Infinity Room': http://modernfloorlamps.net/infinity-light-room-wows-broad-museum/  
> If anyone visits Los Angeles, it's free to visit at the Broad Museum. Quite a sight to experience.
> 
> \- Song I was listening to when I imagined the club scene (the video itself is worth watching since the man has got mad skillz): Parov Stelar - Catgroove: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twqM56f_cVo 
> 
> Yes, I do like my LED lights :) 
> 
> Enjoy.

_Sansa Stark._ For something so ordinary as a given name, the bearer herself didn’t often hear it spoken aloud. A name was a curious thing - that as soon as one is born into this world, the first marker to shape an identity is out of a person's control. 

Sansa opened her eyes slowly and turned her head to look back at him. The flashing lights played across his face and bathed his sharp features in a kaleidoscope of colour. His feline eyes were hypnotizing, like he could penetrate her subconscious and extract any secret he wanted.

His words should have made her feel more apprehensive. Instead, the alcohol was starting to numb her anxiety like an electric jolt to the system. The liquor must have been priceless because she couldn’t remember ever feeling buzzed that quickly from just one shot. Although it was good to feel calm, she couldn’t let the alcohol completely dull her senses.

Controlling her expression, she let out a small laugh that sounded formed out of disbelief. If the man didn’t react to outward flirtation, she would have to change tack. 

Littlefinger only smirked and pulled his head away. He turned his body with his back against the couch. He knew that he had the upper hand and oh, he enjoyed it. The man had the infuriating quality of wearing his confidence as casually as one of his tailored suits.

“You look like you need a drink.”

He motioned to one of the cocktail waitresses, raising his hand to indicate two. _Even his control over the club extends to telepathic drink orders to his staff_ , she observed.

“I’m not going to ask you why you go by Alayne. It’s not my place to ask.”

He spoke with the nonchalant ease of someone whose intentions were the exact opposite of their words.

“Just as I don’t ask you why you’re named Mocking Bird?”

Her rebuttal was wrapped with a small smile as she turned her head towards him. She was about to ask him why he also went by Littlefinger before she remembered that he didn’t know that she knew his other name.

He chuckled as he tilted his head to the side. He casually leaned forward.

“What makes you think that’s not my real name?”

His eyes widened in mock shock as he flashed her another one of those sly smirks. This time, Sansa couldn’t hold back a genuine laugh. It may have been the strobe lights playing tricks on her eyes, but she thought that she could see a flash of the melancholic desire she had witnessed on his face when he had first saw her. The moment passed when the cocktail waitress that had served Sansa before returned swiftly to their booth.

This time, the woman silently placed one order each of the same amber-coloured tequila in front of them. Sansa noticed that this time, the liquid was poured into brandy glasses instead of the typical shot glass that she had before. Of course the club’s owner wouldn’t hold a trashy frat party shot glass in between his elegant fingers.

“I figured that you would be oh so eager to get it down your throat the first time. Hence why I didn’t correct my worker for serving it in the wrong glass. Pleasure should be savoured...what’s the rush?” he grinned at her as he shifted his body.

His arms pulled off the top of the couch as he bent forward to reach for his glass. He plopped a sugar cube into the drink and swirled the glass carefully with a steady hand. He looked over at her to see if she would follow his lead. Amused, she reached for her own glass and reciprocated his movement.

“You forgot to make a toast. What is the penalty for that these days? Ten years of bad sex?” he smirked.

“Toasts don’t matter if there’s only one person drinking.”

“I’m joining you now though. Wouldn’t want to shaft ten years of bad sex on you.”

“That depends on the shaft,” she deadpanned as she bit back a smirk. If he could make veiled sexual remarks, she could do it too.

His body twisted away and she heard him cough. She knew that he was hiding a laugh. Her remark had finally gotten the reaction that she hadn’t received from her previously blatant physical gestures. As he turned back to raise his glass towards her, his eyes pinned her with a leer.

“To secrets,” he said seriously, not breaking eye contact. “May the most telling remain hidden after this drink.”

Their glasses clinked together. Their eyes watched each other over the rims as they each took a sip. Sansa pretended to drink and wondered if he was doing the same.

“Care to share why you think my name is Sansa Stark?”

She placed the glass back down onto the table and grasped her elbows together protectively as she leaned back into the couch.

“There _are_ some things that don’t lie, as contrary as it is to my beliefs,” he stated, looking at her pointedly instead of continuing. 

“Such as…?”

He only chuckled.

“Tell me your story,” he softly commanded as he held his drink. His eyes were rapt with attention as he looked at her expectantly. He had the annoying charm of making her feel like she was the only woman in the packed club.

_Where to start? I’m a spy. You’re my target. I’m under orders from the Queen to lead you to my bed._

He left the question ambiguous to whatever direction she wanted to take it. Skilled he was to make her think that she was taking the lead. She responded with a sly smile.

“In my story, someone always dies.”

The words were pronounced slowly, like an ominous fortune. Her blue eyes silently challenged him to react as they studied each other.

“But isn't the ending the same for everyone?" he smiled wryly. "And where do I fit into your story?” he asked after a moment with a glazed look in his eyes. Maybe he had been drinking after all. He took another small sip - or what looked like one - and placed his drink back onto the table. Two long sleeved arms draped over the top of the couch, almost seeming to embrace her.

She raked her eyes over him, not unlike the way he had done with her. Even the devil would have begged God to make him more seductive than the man casually lounging next to her on the couch. His lightly streaked dark hair, sharp features, killer cheekbones, penchant for dark clothing, dubious business dealings and predatory gaze ticked off all the boxes for the classic villain. He even managed to make his RP accented English sound charming and not pretentiously stuffy. Yet, there was something that could have passed as vaguely chivalrous in his manner. The dead lover or whoever that he had thought she was had triggered a raw emotion in him. There was an untold story there that added another mysterious dimension to Littlefinger.

“It’s too early to say,” she said coyly, biting her lip. “You’ve only just entered the scene.” She tilted her head. “To be fair, you were shot at and you didn’t die. Even though you _did_ almost have me executed...so for now, let’s just say that you are the man in black,” she nodded at him.

“The man in black,” he tasted the words aloud with a slow drawl. “So to you, I’m the villain?”

“If that’s your interpretation. I’m merely describing how you look now.” Her tone bordered on playful as she relaxed in her seat.

“My turn. Who am I in your story?” she asked.

He pulled his arms off of the couch and turned his head to face the dance floor.

“I already called you my beautiful saviour. I think that’s a good start,” he replied flatly, his gaze fixed ahead.

"There's just one problem with that characterisation," she said. "I'm not yours."

He stared at her for a moment, before he turned away. From her angle, she couldn't tell whether the corners of his mouth were upturned or not. His posture was straight as he appeared to mull over his thoughts. Suddenly, he turned to her with a disarming smile.

“Would you care to share a dance with me?”

Sansa blushed and looked down. Her mouth puckered into a shy smile. He stood up and held out a hand to her. Littlefinger was looking at her like he didn’t expect her to refuse. And how could she?

This time, she took a large sip from her glass of tequila before she stood up and took his hand. It was a testament to the conversational hold that Littlefinger had over her that she hadn’t paid attention to the music. The beat of the song had influences of swing and jazz, yet had a very modern beat. She looked up and gaped in amazement. The chandelier moved its layered tiers in a perfect pattern. At the moment, the long strands of the LED lights were flashing in a fluorescent blue colour. It seemed like shooting stars were falling from the ceiling towards the dance floor.

Littlefinger stopped in the middle of the floor and pulled her body close towards him. _Come here,_ his body language seemed to say. _I need your attention._

Sansa didn’t think she was a great dancer, but at that point she hardly cared. The alcohol had done a fantastic job of numbing her nerves and she let herself be led across the floor. He took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder while he brought up her right hand to lead her into the dance. His left hand snaked around her waist as he gently led her through some basic movements.

 _I’m a spy dancing to electro-swing music with my dangerous target in a place that wouldn’t allow Britain’s elite agents to pass the velvet rope. Before me._ Saying the words aloud in her head was enough to make a gleeful smile flit across her face.

Littlefinger’s eyes never left hers as he expertly directed her movements. They were so close together that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. He released her hand from his shoulder and gently pushed her away for a twirl. She broke apart and improvised into a jig. Her body contorted as she twisted her arms and legs in random movements. With the swing influenced music, she moved her body in movements that she thought were popular in 1950. When she looked at him, his expression was controlled yet his eyes were warm. In the dim light, he looked youthful and quite boyish. When he thought that she wasn't looking, he let out a laugh that she could see through the strands of hair that swung around her face. She wondered how he must have looked like before he had chosen to hide himself behind his multiple personalities. The music was too loud for her to hear how his laugh sounded like, but the mirthful image on his face alone was enough for her to reciprocate with a smile.

Suddenly he stopped laughing and pulled her close to him again. She was close enough to see that his pupils were dilated as their steps quickened across the floor. Just as the song was about to end, he pushed her body down into a dip. At that angle, his head was just above her chest. For a moment, she panicked at the thought that her breasts would fall out of her low-cut dress. The panic changed into something else when her eyes rolled forward to regard her dance partner. His smouldering eyes made her cheeks burn red even at that awkward angle. His face was dangerously close to her cleavage and she hoped that he couldn’t hear the blood pounding from her heart. Yet she couldn’t will herself to move.

The song changed and he brought her up to face him. As she came back up, long auburn strands fell around her face and she knew that the dancing had mussed up her hair. She felt his hand around her waist grip her tighter as hers rested on his shoulder. They looked at each other as though they didn’t want to break the spell between them with words. Her widened eyes flickered down to his lips and she opened her own mouth slightly. His face came forward and her breath hitched.

Despite of her professional instinct telling her otherwise, she was strangely disappointed that his mouth moved to the side of her head again. She could feel his warm breath as his mouth gently nuzzled her ear.

“Sansa,” he said slowly. The way that he drew out the last syllable of her name sounded like a purr. A sense of dread came over her. It was wrong of her to like hearing her real name from his lips. His knowledge of her identity now compromised her mission.

“Your parents would have wanted to see how lovely you look tonight. _Especially_ your mother,” he whispered deeply.

The brooding man had broken the spell. She flinched and pushed away from him.

“How would you know about my parents? Why do you call me a name like _that_ _?_ ” she shouted as much out of the need to make herself heard over the music and out of anger. _What did this stranger know about her family?_

The sly grin on his sharp face was deadly as he stepped closer towards her. His hand reached up to cup her face yet she swatted it away lightly. Sansa stepped back and bumped into someone dancing behind her. When she turned her head away to apologise, the man used the opportunity to grasp her shoulders and hold her in place.

“Get off me,” she snarled as she tried to squirm away.

“I’m not playing around,” he said seriously. “I’m an old friend of your family. I know there must be a lot of questions you must have about your past. _Trust me._ I can help you. I’m the only one who has answers.” His eyes looked blank yet he spoke with a solemn tone. This time, it was his voice that had a touch of melancholy and not his expression.

“You almost had me shot and you expect me to trust you? You don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t you dare speak like you knew my family,” she spat. People were starting to shoot nervous glances at the pair. Littlefinger, aware of the attention that they were drawing, released his hold on her. Sansa furiously pushed her way off of the dance floor. She didn’t glance back to see if he was following her.

Sansa blindly made her way to what looked like a passage to an exit. How dare that he could speak so personally about them. She was angry that a stranger - and most especially her _target_ \- knew her name. Her first assignment had become a failure before she was able to fully prove her ability. A deeper part of her was also disappointed that a stranger seemed to have a more intimate knowledge of her past than herself.

Even the corridors themselves were lit with dark red LED lights in different geometrical patterns that scaled around the walls and ceiling. Unlike the main dance floor, the lights were subdued and the soft lighting still made people appear to look like shadows. The figures that lingered along the corridor were either smoking, kissing, dancing or chatting. Quite a few people were doing all of the above. Sansa made her way up the corridor and couldn’t find an elevator. Instead, there were several unmarked doors that lined the passageway. This was supposed to be an intelligence gathering mission anyway. She looked up at the ceiling and saw several black domes that could only be security cameras.

 _Sod it_ , she thought as she reached for the first door. If security were to come and stop her, she would just say that she was looking for the exit. Being her first time there at the club, it seemed like a plausible excuse. She needed to find out more about the Mockingbird and why Littlefinger didn’t shy away from saying that it had an infamous reputation.

The door was locked by key card access like the one that she had entered before. If the card didn’t work, there was no harm in trying. She slid the card into the slot. To her astonishment, the door beeped green and she heard the lock click open. Tentatively, she opened it.

Her head peeked inside, careful not to enter the room. The unlit room was empty and looked disappointingly like what one would find in an upscale hotel. A large mirror faced the master bed in the center and she could make out a drawer beside it. Seeing nothing of interest, she closed the door and continued.

The next two rooms she tried did not grant her access so she made her way back up the passage. Just before the entrance to the main floor, she spotted a lift that she had walked past as she had angrily left the dance floor. A few other people stepped with her inside the lift. Everyone was intent on going up. Sansa looked up and saw yet another security camera embedded into the ceiling. It was unnerving for the spy to be the one being watched.

A shrill ding sounded as the elevator arrived to the third floor. She decided to follow the small crowd of people who had gotten off on this level. Just like the floor below them, the walls and ceilings were lit with LEDs. The passageway snaked around the main dance floor and she could overlook the main floor below. Unlit doors were lined around this level.

The people she was following stopped at one of the doors. A stunning woman with a blonde bob took out her card and opened the door. She held the door open as the others went inside. Sansa quietly followed at the back.

When Sansa approached the door, the woman ogled her up and down with a grin.

“Oh what do we have here?” she smirked. “We’ve got more company!” she called out to the others inside. Sansa heard a person cheer enthusiastically. She smiled shyly as she peered past the girl into the room. Unlike the previous one she had seen, this one was unfurnished except for large cushions and mats. The people inside were sitting down and arranging themselves comfortably on the floor. Moroccan lanterns hung from the ceiling and cast a warm glow around the otherwise dark room.

“Don’t worry dear, you can join us. The more the merrier!” the woman grinned as Sansa stared blankly back at her. There was something about her smile that made Sansa feel uncomfortable. A movement behind the door made Sansa glance back inside. The people in the room started to take off each other’s clothes as the room started to ring with sighs and soft moans. Sansa was glued to her spot as her eyes widened in shock.

“Sorry love if you’d like to join us, I’ll need to scan your club card. Even looking isn’t free you know.” The woman reached out and stroked Sansa’s face slowly. Her fingers softly ran down her face and brushed her lips. Sansa jolted back. With quick steps, she turned away and continued further up the passageway.

 _Even looking isn’t free_ , the woman had said. So the Mockingbird doubled as a whorehouse. _Was that it?_ There had to be more to this club than just transactional sex. She made her way to another door. Before she put her card into the slot, she put her ear against it to try to prevent herself from stumbling on another orgy. The door was solid. It occurred to her that the rooms were probably soundproofed so that the noise from the main dance floor didn't spoil the private parties.

She held her breath and took a chance. The door clicked and she gingerly opened it a sliver. No moans came out. Silence. She opened it fully and saw infinity. The large room was dark and mirrored on all sides. Every square space seemed to be glittering with mini LED lights. It made Sansa feel like she was walking amongst the stars. Intrigued by the dazzling lights, she closed the door behind her and stepped into the middle of the empty room. Her reflection was multiplied in every direction she looked. It seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Sansa saw a water dispenser with plastic cups in the far corner. Feeling thirsty, she stepped towards it. She reached for a cup and pushed her hand on the button. When water didn’t come out, she pressed it again in confusion since the tank looked pretty full. Then she saw the card slot that was discreetly placed on the side of the dispenser.

 _First it's looking and now it's even the water that isn’t free at this place_ , she thought as she took out her card and inserted the microchip. She pressed down on the button as the water dispenser gave her a measured amount of water. Greedily, she drank it all down in one gulp. Her thirst wasn’t quenched so she inserted her card into the slot again. This time when she pressed the button, it wouldn’t accept her card. She tried multiple times and gave up.

Making her way to a random spot, she sat down. Her head turned as she chased her reflections from different angles. What a strangely beautiful room. An art installation perhaps? What was  _this_ doing in the middle of a brothel? This must be a fancy form of a VIP chill out lounge or something like that.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting and literally staring into space before it hit her. _Oh shit. That wasn't water_. Reluctantly, she tore herself from the floor and headed to the door. Opening it quickly, she stepped back out into the passageway. The beats of the music on the main floor were deafening to her ears and she put her hands up to stop the sound. There wasn’t a sign for a bathroom in sight and she didn’t feel in the right state to look for one either. The geometric patterns of the red LED lights that bordered the walls seemed to pulse out of their places like heartbeats. Every beat of the music seemed to make each of the lights thump harder.

Her stomach heaved as she dropped to the floor and tried to retch up the liquid. She thought to put her fingers in her mouth, but stopped as she stared down at her hand. The rings of her fingertips looked like a vortex. Curious, she brought her hand closer to her eyes to study the swirls. Her thoughts started to chase each other as the music became overwhelming.

Someone touched her and she jolted forward to run. _Turn around_ , her subconscious urged. She saw that it was a man. His sturdy body bent down to the floor and gazed at her with a kind expression. His bearded face looked rough, as though he spent most of his time outdoors letting the sun beat down onto him. Long brown hair hung in waves onto his broad shoulders. She had never seen this grey-eyed stranger before, yet he looked eerily familiar.

“Who are you?” she asked in shock.

“Don’t you recognise me Sansa? I’ve been sent to help you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve always known it. How could I forget one of the universe's most precious creations?”

She stared at him for a time, but recognition failed her.

“It’s me Sansa. Come back to me,” he coaxed. A rough hand that looked like it had handled many seasons of manual labour stretched out to her.

“Stop it, you’re scaring me,” she whimpered. She felt like crying and yet her eyes couldn’t produce any tears.

“Take my hand, Sansa,” his hand beckoned more aggressively.

“No.” Her arms hugged her body protectively as she shook her head roughly from side to side. She dropped her head in between her arms. _Make it go away. Make it go away. Please make it go away._

“Sansa.”

She looked back and screamed as she stared at the pockmarked face of Ilyn Payne. His mouth opened and she could see the scarred lump where his tongue had been cut off. She tried to run, but her mind couldn’t will her legs to move. Fingers blackened with old blood grabbed her and she lost it. His colourless eyes leered at her as he took out his scythe and sliced it towards her. Her mouth was still open in a wail as she fell into the darkness.


	6. New Partnerships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed Harry's character.

_If I’ve been here before, why is everything burned?_

It had always been the same vision, the one of a dirt path lined by trees crowned with the golden leaves of autumn. This time, it seemed that she had been lucky to miss the fire that had recently swept across the once lush landscape. A chilly wind howled like a widow mourning before a freshly dug grave. The charcoal-blackened carcasses of leafless trees lined both sides of the once familiar path. When she inhaled, the unpleasant smell of ash filled her nostrils. Under the girl’s feet the ground felt damp, like it had rained the previous night.

As she trekked further up the path, she perceived two soot covered lumps on the ground. The mud sank her feet into the earth as she tried to run towards them. The closer she got, she perceived that the indistinguishable objects were actually two bodies laying aside each other. The soot that covered every inch of exposed skin made their blackened forms almost blend into the rain soaked earth.

A nagging fear crept upon her. The grisly situation needed to be investigated, like how one needed to find the source of an unknown sound in their own home to know if an intruder lurked in the shadows. As much as Sansa dreaded it, she needed to see them up close. _To know. To put faces to her nightmares._ She held her breath as she slowly bent down to the ground.

Suddenly, one of the figures turned over and grabbed her wrist. It was the same man that she had seen before. His face and body were completely covered with dark ash, yet the whites of his eyes stood out as sharp as a bleached bone. Her eyes rounded in dreadful recognition as she looked back at him.

She felt the heat before she saw the white fire that burst without warning through the slaughtered forest. As her body tried to wrench itself from his grip, his hold on her wrist tightened. A scream that didn’t sound human wailed across the grim landscape. The man’s grey gaze never wavered as she felt the burning licks of the flames begin to consume her body.

“Sansa!” he rasped through the fire. “Sansa! Come back! It’s only me. Sansa!”

Blue eyes shot open as her body jolted upward. It felt like she had fallen asleep on a train and had woken up at the wrong stop miles past her intended destination. A firm hand gripped her wrist but when she looked up, gunmetal silver had morphed into mossy grey. When she jerked her hand out of his grip, the man’s skin had felt smooth instead of callused.

The sudden movement jerked her thoughts out of her drug-induced nightmares as she crashed back into the present. Compared to the dim lights of the club and the black and whites that coloured her nightmares, _now_ was too bright. As she blinked her eyes frantically to adjust to the artificially-lit room, paranoia was the first unwelcome hit of reality that seeped through her blood.

 _How long have I been gone? Where am I? What did I do? Did I say anything compromising? Why is_ he _here? What does he know? Why did I do this to myself?_

Littlefinger leaned against a pillow as he lay next to her on top of the sheets. _Fully clothed,_ she gratefully remarked. His lightly mussed hair made him look especially louche as he faced her with his head propped up against his hand. She noticed that his eyes were slightly puffy as he appraised her with the pragmatism that a physician has with a patient. _How long has he been here?_

Shocked, her own eyes shot down at herself. Navy coloured sheets that felt like they had been woven from tufts of clouds softly enveloped her body on the bed. _Definitely not my bed._ The sheets felt too expensive to be from a hospital. _His_ bed, she thought disconcertingly.

Panicked, she threw off the bedsheet and shakily stood up next to her side of the bed. Frantic hands ran up and down her body as she reassured herself that she was still wearing the same dress from last night. She felt the slight indentations of her bra and knickers and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her satisfaction was short-lived as she remembered her self-induced loss of control over her senses.

“Did we…”

“No,” he emphasised flatly. “I prefer to have my partner’s full attention. I wouldn’t want to worry that someone is seeing demons while she’s tripping her knickers off.” He shifted his head off his hand and casually twisted his body upright. The rustling movement emphasised the deep wrinkles that marred his expensive black button down. Like her, the man was still dressed in last night’s clothes as he rested his head against the headboard.

“Where am I and what happened?” she asked sharply even as she dreaded to hear his response.

His silent gaze unwavered from hers as he prolonged their deadlock. Again, her target had the upper hand. Sansa was conscious that her game was repeatedly slipping out of her inexperienced fingers. She felt disappointed in her naïveté. If she was supposed to be a good spy, why was she losing control?

“You’re in a very safe place. If I hadn’t gotten to you, anyone could have taken advantage of you,” he said seriously.

 _Stay on your guard,_ her instinct urged even though his tone sounded sincere. It seemed as if her instinct spoke to her in Olenna’s shrill voice over the internal wire that was plugged from her ears to her brain. After this debacle, she couldn’t afford to take anything she heard at face value. She didn’t know what role she played in his game. He had the opportunity to have her killed. He hadn’t taken it. He had the opportunity to take her in any way or interrogate her if he had harbored any suspicions about her intentions. Instead, he had chosen to take care of her. _Why is he keeping me close?_

“I was relieved that you stumbled upon the LSD room and not the heroin one right next to it. If I had left you alone, you would probably still be writhing on the floor and screaming. I didn’t want my guests to see someone having a bad time,” he replied practically before he paused and continued in a softer voice. “I also wasn’t happy to see you experience something unpleasant after we were having quite an enjoyable evening.”

She remembered her anger as she had stormed off the dance floor. “Relieved? You felt relieved that I unwittingly put myself into a bad trip? Why do you have something bad like drugs in the first place? I could have overdosed.”

“Legality would kill my profits,” the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Not to mention the extra taxes, regulations and the loss of the appeal that people have when they break laws. It shouldn’t have been a bad experience for you. The people who choose to drink from my acid fountain are in the right state of mind to handle it.” He chuckled.

“I had it custom made to portion out just the right amount per hit after I had to deal with too many overdoses. My clients shell out hundreds of pounds so that I can give them euphoria, hence why the purity of my _products_ are always laboratory-grade perfect. You were upset and not in a positive place when you took it, however unknowingly. I gave you a Valium to help you come down. I regret not asking you for permission, but that drug was necessary to calm you.”

Sansa shuddered as she remembered the blood-stained hands of Ilyn Payne as he had brandished his scythe at her. How could she see that image so clearly when the “reality” had been that of Littlefinger injecting her with a sedative? A humorless laugh pinched itself from her rigidly horizontal mouth. She definitely wasn’t curious to repeat the situation.

“It ‘shouldn’t have been bad.’ And how would you know?” After losing control of her own mind, she was loath to share what she had experienced. The grey-eyed man, the burn of white flames and even the tongueless face of Ilyn Payne would remain locked up in her private nightmares.

“Every businessman should know the products they sell, ” he responded matter-of-factly, even as she could not imagine the carefully constructed Littlefinger out of his mind on acid. But this was the same man who had the sly sense of humour to legally name himself Mocking Bird to avoid signing documents with his real name, she remembered.

“I also know when someone is having a bad time, which is not hard to tell with LSD.” He slid off the bed. “You really should eat something and stay hydrated. You’ve been out for twelve hours.” His lithe form casually stalked past her and disappeared behind the beautifully hand-carved folding wooden screen that divided the bedroom from the main entrance.

An open door in front of her revealed what looked to be the bathroom. Stepping inside, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and her mouth was dry. Dehydration had cracked her lips and hands. She looked around for a hairbrush to tame her tangled hair, but she only found unopened boxes of basic sanitary supplies when she opened the cabinet. _Maybe this place doubled as a stockroom for the club_. There was no sign that Littlefinger used this place, judging by the lack of any open toothbrushes, razors, deodorants or other basic hygiene tools. Everything remained sealed in bulk-buy packages.

Turning on the faucet, she washed her face and reluctantly tried to avoid drinking the cold tap water. Satisfied that she had re-established some semblance of propriety, she smoothed down her dress and stepped past the room divider into the next room.

His back was turned away from her, but she could hear the precise chops that he made with his knife against the cutting board. A French press rested on the counter and the smell of roasted coffee jolted her senses to attention. The kitchen was basically equipped with a fridge and a hob with an oven. What wasn’t basic was the large wine cooler that extended from the top of the wall to the floor. The kitchen was faced by a sitting area with a plush couch and a low table that was covered with things. A mahogany desk in a far corner was topped with a desktop computer and a laptop.

Electronically sealed wooden cabinets seemed to be built into the walls. The areas of the walls that remained bare were occupied by the black monitor of a large flat-screen TV, a dart board and an antique clock. The windowless space was condensed, but still considerable for what could pass as a one bedroom flat. The dark wood that forested every inch of space exuded a cozy warmth to the place.

Then she noticed the generator that hummed quietly in one corner. Stacks of bottled water rested against the wall next to the fortified door. She walked over to the table and saw that is was stacked with portable radios, walkie talkies, and handguns arranged in neat rows. _If only MI6 could get their hands on this man_ ... _well, isn’t that supposed to be my job_.

“We're in a panic room,” she surmised as she sat down on the couch. Crossing her legs, she folded her arms across her chest as she quietly stared around the room. Her previous lack of control had made her hyper aware of the need to mentally catalogue every detail.

“Never hurts to be prepared for any eventuality, like a national pandemic, natural disasters, nuclear war, a zombie apocalypse....or how to treat a young woman that’s facing her nightmares,” he replied with his back still turned.

“What do you know about my nightmares?” she snapped. _What have I said?_

“Eat this,” he said calmly as he turned around. He deftly cleared an empty space on the table with one hand before he set the bowl down. “You need to get your strength up and stay hydrated. Oily foods aren’t a good idea after what your body has gone through.” He gestured to the stack of water bottles against the wall. “Those bottles really are water. You can check. Each of them are factory sealed. I can see that you’re dehydrated.”

Hunger overtook her cautious reluctance as she gingerly picked at the perfectly cut slices of strawberries and bananas that were sprinkled with granola and yogurt.

“You didn’t answer my question last night,” she started as he walked back into the kitchen and started to pour himself a mug of coffee. If there was to be an interrogation, she would be the one to start it.

“What makes you think my name is Sansa Stark?” In the privacy of this fortified room, she could say her real name aloud. The only civilian who knew her true identity turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“If you remember what I said last night, there are some things that don’t lie,” he took a sip from his coffee before he continued. “DNA is one of them. Contrary to those crime shows on TV, hair samples are very difficult to extract genetic evidence from. But thanks to the demands of this club, I have access to the best labs and chemists in this country.”

“How did you get a hair sample off of me?”

She was supposed to be the one to ensnare him, yet he had already taken something intimate off her body. Reflexively, a hand raised to her head and combed through her long strands. It both infuriated and impressed her at the same time. _How does he make everything look so easy?_

“Remember when I accidentally pulled your wig off when we met at the hotel?  A couple strands of your hair stuck to my wool suit. I needed to be certain. I correctly assumed that you wouldn’t have a criminal record so there was nothing about you on any official database. I didn’t need it though.”

“Why? What is so important about me?”

“Most people wouldn’t have lied to the police for someone they don’t know. _Especially_ someone that had a gun to their head only moments ago. What would motivate a young girl to do that for a stranger that someone else tried to kill?”

Sansa chewed her food slowly as she controlled her features into an impassive expression. The soft hums of the generator in the background reverberated the guarded tension around the room.

HIs eyes narrowed before he turned away and walked back into the bedroom. The electronic beeps of a safe opening prompted her head to tilt towards the sound, but the wooden room divider didn’t have any holes to peer through to the bedroom. As he came back to her place on the couch, he gingerly held something small in his hand.

“This is why I know that you are Sansa Stark,” his face was ambiguous as he carefully handed over a clue to her past.

The photograph felt as brittle as a dry flower as she held it delicately. It was faded and wrinkled with time, yet Sansa felt like she was looking at herself. For a moment, Sansa could only stare at the woman’s face like she was studying a flyer of a missing person. The photographer had caught the young girl mid-laugh, eternally capturing her as a teenager within the limitations of a four by six print. A joyful warmth radiated from the girl’s blue eyes.

“This could be anyone,” Sansa dismissed, even as her fingers carefully protected the fragile image like it would crumble into dust.

“Not just anyone for you. You passed my test,” he said softly as he glanced down to study the way her hands held the photo.

“Who is this?” She asked the question aloud even though she knew the answer.

Littlefinger quietly sat down on the couch next to her. His eyes scanned over the photograph in the familiar manner of one who had perused it enough times to memorise every feature.

“Turn it over.”

 _To my adopted little brother. Catelyn_. It was strange how the neatly scrawled words looked to have been smudged a long time ago with sporadic drops of water. Although the front of the photograph was creased, it had no such stains.

 _Catelyn._ Her mouth subtly formed the word, but no sound came out. Now that she knew her mother’s name, she selfishly wanted to keep that little bit of information to herself. Even a simple thing like her name was something that she wanted to lock inside her heart and fawn over in the privacy of her mind.

On closer inspection, Sansa could pick out some minor differences between herself and the young girl in the photo. They had the same blue eyes and long tresses, yet her mother’s cheekbones were a bit more rounded and the lighter shade of her hair was tinged with cinnamon. Her beauty made Sansa want to cry. The lack of anything other than a physical link with her mother broke her heart.

“Who took this photo? My father?”

“No,” he emphasised deliberately. “I took it.”

“She’s beautiful,” she said wistfully.

“Yes. She was.”

“Was,” she repeated with finality, catching the distinction. There were a million other things she wanted to ask him, other missing puzzle pieces about her past that the man held within himself. _What had happened to her?_

Littlefinger stood up and went to the kitchen to pour himself a fresh mug of coffee.

“I was fostered with your mother at an estate a bit north of here, hence why she wrote that I was her adopted little brother. We were very close as kids. She was...kind to me,” he said with his back turned. “We lost touch after I left the estate,” he finished without elaborating. _So he had been an orphan too._ Her search for clues about her mother had unearthed another layer to her mysterious target.

“Is she the reason why you couldn’t shoot me that day? Because I look like her? Is that why you’re looking out for me?”

For a moment, the only sound was that of the coffee slowly dripping into the mug.

“I’m merely doing a good deed to honor her memory.” His response was measured as he kept his back turned.

“And you think she’d be proud to see you now? Running a club full of hookers and drugs?”

At that he turned around, his expression inscrutable yet there was a hard glint in his eyes. “Like most other people, she would have been surprised. Isn’t confounding other people’s expectations satisfying?”

“But it’s…nothing to be proud of. And it’s against the law _.”_

His laugh was as sharp as the reply that cut through her black and white statement.

“So says the one who gave false testimony to the police for a complete stranger. So quick to pass judgement on other people’s decisions. You sound just like your father,” he looked away and smiled, but his eyes remained impassive. Her ears had perked up again at the mention of her father. _What else did he know? How far deep into the rabbit hole of my past is he embedded? And my lie to the police was for the greater good._

If he had perceived her interest at the mention of her father’s name, he ignored it as he took a casual sip of his coffee.

“Do you think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth?” he continued, a slight hardness underlying his seemingly casual tone. “I work hard and I pull a lot of strings to run the most elite address in this city. Some members of the Royal Family even offered to give me Buckingham Palace to get their hands on a club card. I refused. It's too small and the amount of tourists taking photos of my front door would annoy the fuck out of me. For an orphan like me to be offered an iconic place like that by the so-called “elite” of this country and to have the power to refuse it….how is my position not something to be proud of?”

He raised his eyebrows as he took another sip of coffee. She stayed silent, her eyes goading him to continue speaking.

“The people who _freely choose_ to either work at or enjoy my club are motivated by simple things. For my hard workers, it’s good money that’s enough to have a decent life in one of the most expensive cities in the world. For the pleasure seekers, my place is a safe environment for people to indulge their fantasies. How is it morally wrong for consenting adults to trade services? Sex for money. Drugs for money. Money for sex. Money for drugs. Bartering is an ancient tradition that has spinned this world long before laws were put into place.”

She absorbed his points and mulled it over. Right now, he wore the mask of the businessman who lived by his practical moral code of mutually beneficial arrangements. He was skillful in presenting his worldview into an appealing package - especially to those who had contrary beliefs. He had the tenacity of someone who experienced firsthand that nothing was freely given. There was a lot that she could learn from him, but she felt conflicted.

He was only supposed to be her target. This job was supposed to be impersonal, yet his knowledge of her identity was tempting her to cross the professional line that she needed to stay firmly behind. _But I’m supposed to sleep with him for information._ What was professional about that? _Am I not that different from one of his whores, using sex as a means to something instead of as the result of love?_

She still didn’t know what the man wanted from her other than what she figured was physical gratification. Sitting across from him, she had vastly underestimated his self control. How could she have assumed that batting her eyelids and showing off her cleavage would capture his attention? Another voice, a raspy scowled one, sounded in her subconscious as she remembered one of the Hound's training lessons.

_Assumptions will get you killed._

The mockingbird was dropping little feathers that hinted at what made him tick. When Olenna had told her that she would have to use herself as a honey trap, she hadn’t considered anything other than the obvious. He seemed to enjoy their wordplay. Yes, that would have to be it. A sharp wit was the nectar that she needed to pour into the mockingbird’s ear in order to entrap him. He spoke in the pragmatic language of deals and agreements. I do this. You do that. This for that. _Quid pro quo._ In order to gain his trust, she needed to speak like him.

“I want to know more about my family, yet I have the feeling that information is not something that you give out freely."

To her satisfaction, the possibility of a deal baited his attention. He put down his coffee cup and crossed his arms across his body as he looked at her expectantly. Tenderly, she set her mother's photograph down on the table. She stood up and walked towards him.

“After the shooting you obviously looked into my history, not even overlooking my genetic one,” she raised an eyebrow at him with a small smile. “You must have seen that I quit my job at the Ritz shortly as a result. I didn’t like going to work at a place where I saw my first couple of dead bodies,” she emphasised her point with a shudder that wasn’t fully staged as she recalled the memory.

She stood only a few paces in front of him, her eyes unwavering from his.

“Now, I’m out of a job and I have a rental lease and a cat to feed. Fate must have brought us together for some reason. If you were childhood friends with my mother, doesn’t that sort of make me family in a way?”

The man didn’t move from his position against the counter. Littlefinger’s face was as tightly locked as his arms that crossed over his chest.

“Fate. Family.” He repeated the words in a way that sounded like he wasn’t convinced, yet he didn’t voice any doubts. Instead, he tilted his head and gave her one of his trademark smirks.

“What sort of position do you see yourself as at my establishment?”

“Not a precarious one like spreading my legs for money. Obviously, a club of that size has an extensive need for bookkeeping.”

“I already have a bookkeeper. A very good one, in fact. Loyal and trustworthy with enough lack of ambition to not be a threat.”

“You don’t know my ability. How do you know I’m not good enough? If you really have looked into my background, you’ll have seen that I was awarded with a scholarship to study at St. Andrews.” A lie. 

“Like every recent graduate, I did temporary jobs to look for work and pay rent in the big bad capital,” she continued unhurriedly. “The Ritz is a prestigious hotel, but my job as an attendant wasn’t stimulating my brain enough you know.” Unsettled by his gaze, she looked down and flexed her fingers together to cover up her slightly trembling hands.

He leaned his body against the counter and squared his elbows behind him on the counter as he slightly spread apart his legs. HIs head was tilted down as he looked up at her from under his long eyelashes.

“You told me in the car after the shooting that we don’t owe each other anything. What do I owe you now? I’ve given you a card that some would hand over their Royal titles to obtain. That’s not enough?” An eyebrow quirked up to join his smirk.

“It’s not for my sake. For my mother’s sake,” she stated with a resolute strength. It was a gamble to use her mother as a pressure point, but he had said earlier that he would do a good deed to honor her memory. _I thought you were dead._ The words that had saved her life when he had hesitated to shoot her. Even from beyond the grave, her mother had watched over her. If they had been foster siblings as children, their bond must have been as binding as blood.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if her wager had worked. He tilted his head up and looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He stood close enough for her to smell the coffee that slightly tinged his breath. She wondered if he could smell her apprehension.

“Turn around,” he commanded slowly. The unexpectedness of his words made her let out a nervous laugh.

“Did I say anything amusing?” his voice had switched from no-nonsense business to an off-the-clock evening shade. “If you want to work for me, you’ll have to trust me.”

“You haven’t even said what my position will be,” she sighed with exasperation even as she followed his instructions. Rolling her eyes, she didn’t see what point he was trying to make.

“Right now, your position is just where I need you to be,” he drawled as she felt his body lightly brush up behind her. “Don’t move an inch,” he whispered deeply into her ear before she heard his footsteps recede. It didn’t take long for him to return. She turned her head to look at him, but he playfully scolded her as his hands rushed to hide behind his back.

“What did I say? If I’m to be your new boss, you need to learn how to take instruction properly.”

With her head straight, she lowered her eyes to watch his figure bend down by her feet. The plop of her shoes dropping onto the wooden floor seemed to echo around the reinforced room.

“Put them back on and when you’re done, stand back up and close your eyes.”

She heard him step backwards as he settled himself to a spot behind her in the kitchen. As she bent down to put on her shoes, she could feel the provocative trail that his eyes were surely raking over her backside.

Finished, she closed her eyes and waited. Under her eyelids, her eyes darted in every direction as she tried to push her other senses into scoping out the situation.

The first sensation she felt was that of his body heat as he stepped behind her. He was close enough for her senses to detect, but no part of him touched her. A hint of coffee and peppermint near her face made her inhale.

“Do you trust me?”

His voice was low as she felt his warm breath enter her ear. Her body stiffened and she felt herself twitch. A man who had grown up with her mother wouldn’t hurt her. _Wouldn’t he?_ She remembered the pile of handguns that were lain out on the table just a few paces in front of her. If he were to harm her, she could grab one of the guns to defend herself. Her eyes were shut as she gulped. She nodded yes, but her instinct screamed  _no_.

Something rustled behind her and her head tilted to the side as her ears cocked towards the sound. Sansa gasped as the soft satin of what felt like a man’s tie wrapped its way around her eyes. His hands expertly tied a tight knot that didn’t let any light through as she opened her eyes underneath the tie. Instinctively, her hands raised to her head to feel the material but the action elicited a soft tut from her new boss.

“If you pull that off, I’ll be greatly disappointed. You’ve got to trust me."

She bit her lip and tried not to smile at the irony.

"Why are you doing this?" The man had a very strange way of flirting with her, if this was what she could call that. 

"This will be nothing like your acid trip," he soothed her. "Since you've had such a bad experience, I want to show you how it can be very pleasurable to lose control of your senses. Don't worry. Follow my lead.”

She heard him step forward but this time, he pressed his body up behind her. Her chest raised and fell slowly as she tried to control her breathing. One hand lightly gripped her shoulder as she felt the other one slowly comb through her hair. He parted it to one side, exposing the elongated groove of her neck. Suddenly she felt his fingers on either side of her neck. Slowly, they trailed down the long curve of her neck and over her exposed collarbones. The pads of his fingers slightly pressed down as he traced her collarbone back and forth in languid horizontal lines.

“Trusting one another will make this a mutually beneficial partnership, don’t you think?” he breathed into her ear. She bit her lip as she made a conscious effort to remain silent. The lack of vision had only ignited every other sense in her body.

“I haven’t even told you what your new position will be,” he chuckled darkly. “You will accompany me as my courier to help me deliver messages. Since you seem to have a way with words, I would like to see how you well you can read between the lines. All those _dark_ words hidden underneath innocent sounding pleasantries....you’re a clever girl, _Sansa_. I expect you to do very well in this position.”

Again, she didn’t like how she enjoyed hearing the way her name rolled off of his tongue. He was coaxing her to lose control even as her brain was the lone soldier that steadfastly battled against every other organ in her body. His fingers reached her shoulders and slowly traced their way down her arms.

“I’m impressed with your wit. There’s a dark undertone to you that your mother never had. It pleases me greatly to know that your mind is as bright as your beauty,” he continued drawling in her ear as his touch reached her hands.

His fingers intertwined with hers and he squeezed them together before he took her wrists and held them behind her back. The action made her chest jut out and she hissed quietly as she took in a sharp intake of breath. Her cheeks burned with shame as she thought about what her mother would have thought if she were to see the way that her daughter's body submitted to the man she had seen as a little brother - and how much more shocked her mother would have been to see how much Sansa responded to it.

Goosebumps prickled the exposed flesh as she felt his lips press against her ear.

“Slowly walk forward.” 

“Stop. Stay where you are."

He released her hands and she let out the breath she had been holding in. Steps sounded to her right and she heard the electronic punches of what she figured was the code for the front door. She heard a long beep and then the heavy click of the lock opening. The door sounded bulletproof as she heard it loudly groan open like a wakening beast. It occurred to Sansa that he had blindfolded her so that she couldn’t know the location of his panic room. Sneaky bastard.  _What happened to trusting each other?_

Footsteps sounded behind her and she felt his hands return to her wrists.

“Good girl. Step forward.”

She stepped forward before he told her to stop moving. The electronic beeps sounded again before she heard the heavy clunk of the door closing behind her. Again, his hands came back to her wrists as he instructed her to move forward. Sansa listened closely, but she only heard the sound of their footsteps as he led her through various turns and twists. It felt like he was deliberately leading her down different directions to confuse her so that she couldn’t memorise the steps. They entered an elevator and she felt them moving down.

A ping and the sound of the door opening announced their destination. This time, she could smell the unmistakable fumes of diesel and she figured that they were at the garage. The beep of a car unlocking and the sound of a door opening confirmed her suspicion.

He led her to what she guessed was the passenger side as he gently ducked her head and helped her sit into the car. She could feel and smell the crisp leather of the car. It smelled brand new, as if it had been freshly delivered from the factory. Sansa didn’t anticipate the slightly cold brush of the seatbelt as he brought it across her chest and it almost made her jump out of her seat. He only chuckled as she heard it click into place.

The car door on her left slammed shut and she heard him enter the driver’s side. She heard the familiar jingle of car keys and the click as it entered the ignition. The car roared to life and the sound of the radio filled the car as she heard him switch the car into gear. The station was set to the BBC and she listened to the news stories as he silently drove out of the garage and into the city. Through her blindfold, she could perceive the slight rays of light that pierced through the silk. Daylight. The thought was comforting.

"Where are you taking me?" 

"You'll soon see." She heard the self-satisfaction that coated his voice.

"If you wanted to kidnap me, you could've just said so," she said.

"If I did, where would be the fun in that? You don't like surprises?"

"Not when they're from strangers."

"Considering that since we've met you've survived assassination attempts and bad acid trips added to the fact that you now work for me, I don't think I'm considered to be a stranger anymore."

"You've got a funny way of initiating your new employees."

"This isn't supposed to be funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"Just like those people staring at you from the car next to us."

At times, she thought she could hear him chuckle. At what, she could only imagine for the moment. Then she heard the clutch retract as the car stopped. The radio switched off.

“Turn your head to the left.”

She felt him loosen the knot. As the tie slipped off, the cold silk brushed against her skin and she flinched. The movement was not unnoticed by the man sitting next to her. As she blinked to readjust her eyes to the light, he leaned over in his seat and moved close to her ear.

“Did you enjoy that Sansa?”

Freely choosing to mute one of her senses was something that she had never done before and if she were to be completely honest with herself...the acid had been at the extreme end of the sensory spectrum that she wasn’t curious to repeat, but being blindfolded? She hated that she liked the way he teased her to lose control. It was uncertain whether it was more exciting for him or for her. Playing with her target made the game as exciting as it was dangerous.

“Yes,” she nodded, even though she was still unsure.

“Good,” his eyes gleamed as he opened his door. He went over to her side and opened her door. They were parked close to her flat and she saw that he drove an inconspicuous white Honda. He noticed her raised eyebrows. The expensive smell of the car had fooled her. She had a suspicion that she would learn a lot more from this man than from the stuffy halls of MI6.

“What? Would you want to steal something like that?” he shrugged at her surprise. “Sometimes you need to remind yourself why you work hard to stay rich.”

She smiled. He confounded her expectations in an impressively intimidating way. What a challenge it would be to pin down this man.

“Why did you leave me blindfolded when we left the club? It wouldn’t have mattered if I had seen the city streets since we were headed to my flat anyway.”

“I wanted to see the looks from other drivers when they turned their heads to see a blindfolded lady in the passenger seat. Pure gold,” he grinned wickedly. “Why? Did it bother you?”

“Not really."

"Goes to show how many good-hearted...or kinky people there are in this city because no one called the cops to follow us."

They reached her front door. His eyes raked over her body and met her eyes, the act enough to fill in the blanks of his unspoken thoughts. She bit her lip and looked down as he turned to face her.

“Thank you for taking care of me while I was...” she trailed off, suddenly awkward even though she had just been driven blindfolded through London.

“Now you know not to trust things at face value, even with something as simple as water," he replied cryptically. She wasn’t sure if his words were a warning, a threat or simple advice. 

He took out the photo he had taken of her mother. 

"Keep it. She's yours," he said in a strange voice as he handed the photo to her. Protectively, she clutched the photo against her heart and gave a small nod of thanks.

“Take tomorrow off and rest. Come by my club on Tuesday and we’ll start from there,” he said, the words clipped and business-like. His manner was anything but professional. Stepping forward, he brought his hands up to her shoulders. A hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear before his lips moved toward it. 

“I look forward to developing our partnership further. _Sansa._ ”

He brought his mouth down to the side of her face, lingering for a moment before he gave her an almost innocent kiss on her cheek.

“Good day...sir,” she said politely as his hands remained on her shoulders.

He chuckled and his eyes glinted. His mouth came up to her ear again.

“Between us, call me Petyr,” he drawled as his mouth skirted her earlobe.

She felt the ghost of a smile against the small of her ear before he suddenly released her. He turned quickly and walked away, leaving her breathless in the doorway. She watched his dark form recede down the path. For a moment, she could only stand there and stare into the distance. Who held the control? She couldn't decide. Lost in thought, she took out her keys to enter the flat.

The door opened before she could insert her key into the slot. The man looking back at her had the type of face that belonged on the poster of a classic Hollywood film. His blond hair was slicked back into a stylish pompadour cut that showed off his chiseled cheekbones. Bright blue eyes crinkled into a smile.

"Oh, hello," his voice trailed off.

"Hi," she said simply, her eyes flicked to the side.

"I'm Harry." His denim jacketed covered arm held out to her in greeting. "Do you live here?"

Sansa jingled her keys before she shook hands.

"I'm Alayne."

She knew that she shouldn't try to get close to the other people in her building, but she couldn't find it in her to be outrightly rude to a new neighbour. Harry closed his eyes and groaned. 

"Of course. You were about to come in as I opened the door. I'm such a twat in front of gorgeous girls."

The selfish part of Sansa that took pleasure in getting complimented by two different men showed in the blush that dashed on her cheeks. 

"I've got to go," she said with what she hoped was shyness.

Even for someone as good looking as Harry, Sansa did not feel in the mood to have to spend time making up a backstory for a stranger. There was still so much that she had to process during her time with Petyr. The information she had gained was still fresh and she didn't want details to slip out of her mind. 

Harry's smile had no hint of intimidation. 

"I hope to see you around."

She merely nodded her head and smiled at him as she stepped into the building. As much as she wanted to get to know other people, Sansa lived a double life. Deceiving people for work was one thing. When she was off the clock, she only wanted to rest her mind. If she involved innocent bystanders in her deceptions, she ran the risk of hurting herself as much as the other person. As she walked up the stairs to her flat, she hoped that this Harry wouldn't become a future problem. 


	7. Mindfuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> polygraph. pete continues to interview sansa. ros is introduced indirectly. warning for it being slightly smutty. compared to the other fics on here, it's no big deal lol. both a lesson and a test for sansa. mindfucking continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be annoying. I kept changing my damn mind about this one. I posted the chapter, slept on it, looked back at it and went _I made the characters do what?_ I felt that the second half was too jarring...too creepily intense and rewrote it. 
> 
> For a modern AU set in London, I found it easier to take from reality than making things up for a fanfic. 
> 
> Terms used:  
> \- Eton: very elite English all-boys boarding school. Breeding ground for future politicians. 
> 
> \- A whip is an official of a political party whose task is to ensure party discipline in a legislature. One of their responsibilities is making sure the maximum number of their party members vote, and vote the way their party wants.
> 
> \- Brexit: the very real vote that decided for the UK to leave the European Union (EU). 
> 
> \- Article 50: part of the treaty that allows an EU country to leave the union.
> 
> Hope it's better. Sorry for my indecisiveness. Enjoy.

"Miss Stone. Right on time. Would've hated to have fired you if you had arrived even a minute late."

"I don't bite the hand that feeds, Mr. Bird."

"Not unless I ask you to. Remember that I'm your boss now."

Again, the man in black disarmed her with an easy smile and the practiced etiquette of a gentleman. His steps were quiet as he led her through the dark hallways of the Mockingbird. The lack of windows made the interior of the club seem as though it was permanently night. Even without the loud music and crowds, the LEDs were still the only form of lighting inside.

"It's nine in the morning and you're not turning on the normal lights?"

"Shouldn't you be praising me for doing my part for the environment? Imagine the electricity bill of a place like this if I had standard overhead lighting."

As they passed the main floor, she could see several people casually lounging on the white couches.

"Just because it's day outside doesn't mean that we're closed. People pay for the lights to be kept off, for the illusion. Why would my clients want me to turn on the lights and see how ugly reality is?"

Nothing natural could grow in the shadows of these walls. The club was a microcosm of what he marketed as "freedom," but everything on offer was an artificial construct of the idea and not the pure form. From the paid for carnal pleasure to the augmented reality of the drugs he offered, nothing was real. 

But the greatest player was the owner himself. He seemed to live his life like it was a carefully rehearsed show, where every line and detail was meticulously chosen to get just the precise reaction from his audience.  _How exhausting it must be to perpetually live through an alias, or in his case aliases,_  she thought.  _How often did he choose to switch off his split personalities - and when?_ Which one of the personalities that she had met was Petyr? Had she even met him yet? Or was Petyr too deeply embedded into the identities he had constructed? What ugliness hid underneath his polished exterior?

But wasn't she doing the same thing when she was with him? Today he strangely initiated their interaction by addressing Sansa as her alias. Familiar greetings seemed to have no business around here while she was on the clock. She remembered their previous encounters. Excepting their first meeting when he had almost ordered her to be killed, she hadn't considered him to be overtly threatening in any of their subsequent interactions. His knowledge of her true identity was questionable, but a mere name meant nothing. A girl without a past couldn't compromise her current job. 

They stopped in front of a door that had a biometrical lock on it. He put a forefinger on the keypad and a word that didn't sound like English into the voice recognition box before it clicked open.

The room he led her to couldn't have been his office. It was too bare, as if it had been stripped down on purpose so that nothing could distract the room's occupants. Only a desk and a chair sat in the center. Her expression was naked as he looked at her expectantly. The thinly veiled teasing that had draped over their easy exchange of words had charmed her into a false sense of security. The lamb had willingly led herself to the slaughter. 

Lying on top of the desk was a polygraph machine.

It was a surprising challenge to have to re-learn how to think and react to situations like a normal person instead of as an agent. Daily spy conundrums. Reactions that had come without a second thought in her pre-spy days were now agonised over in tortured detail. Acting was a lot more challenging than she had thought. She still wobbled on the thin tightrope that stretched precariously between off-duty normal person Sansa and on-duty agent Alayne.  

Balancing that tightrope was exhausting. How many years had it taken for the man standing next to her to perfect the art of walking between his personalities? Had the man walked the ropes that held himself together often enough to finally break them?

Gone was the seemingly charming man who had playfully sparred with her. He was back to being the impassive businessman that she had seen at the stakeout. The straight posture, calculated movements and poker face were perfectly in place. It had to be Littlefinger standing beside her. Now he was the man who had almost gotten her killed. In her mind she imagined Petyr, his true name, to be the gentleman who had walked her to her front door and kissed her hand as they said goodbyes.

This lie-detector test had to be another one of his twisted jokes, like having her blindfolded across London for his own amusement. If he was trying to flirt with her, he had a very strange way of showing it.

Standing her ground, she stayed behind the line of the open door and inspected the device on top of the desk. The compact machine looked like an internet router connected with cables and empty plug in holes that were outlined in primary colours. When she looked up at the ceiling, she could see a camera pointed straight towards the door.

How would pre-spy Sansa, a relatively normal person, react to seeing a polygraph?

“What’s that?”

She blinked her eyes and turned to him with an ignorant expression. His face had that same cold impassivity that she was quickly growing used to seeing. Damn, she hated that she had no idea what was going on in his head.

“It’s a polygraph. Most people just say lie detector machine,” he said, smugness creeping into his vowels.

“First you pretty much kidnapped me and now you’re going to interrogate me on my first day of work? And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“Were you expecting a welcome pamphlet to a whore and drug house?”

“I thought you said that I was to be your courier? Isn’t that just a fancy way for saying ‘secretary’?”

“Just because I may have said something, doesn’t mean that I actually meant it,” he said. 

“How am I supposed to know that you can handle the pressures of this job?”

“Because emails are so dangerous? Words don’t kill people,” she said.

“Most people make that mistake.”

She wrinkled her nose at his condescending tone. _Of course I know that emails can be dangerous. I work for the bloody government. “Confidential” emails leak out to the press all the time._ That was another disadvantage of being a spy. She wasn’t comfortable yet with playing dumb.

“Why do I have to do this? I thought you offered me a job already.”

“Therein lies the subtlety. I _offered_ you a job. I didn’t _give_ you one. How could I give someone a job without an interview?” Infuriatingly, he specifically pronounced the words like he was speaking to someone who only spoke very basic English.

“You can’t just trick someone into believing they have a job and then take your word back.”

“Make sure you get everything down in writing next time.”

She tried very hard not to huff in frustration as she glanced at the ceiling. When she looked back at him, he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head towards the desk.

"I've already lied to the police for you. Doesn't my trustworthiness speak for itself?"

"If you can lie to them, you can lie to me."

"Then what is the point of this?"

" _This_ is part of my interview process. My terms and conditions."

Sansa still didn't move.

“You came here today and showed up on time. That leads me to believe that you accepted my job offer. If you refuse to do what I ask, then leave. I'm not forcing you to stay. You know where to find the exit.”

He stared at her, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to leave. She blinked her eyes and stayed in her place.

“Let’s get started then shall we?” he said.

For a minute, she thought that he was trying to hide a complacent grin on his expressionless face. A blazer covered arm extended towards the leather chair in front of the desk. Shaking her head at his wordless command, she took measured steps forward. The cushion felt comfortable as she sank into it and crossed her legs. Of course an uncomfortable chair would give inaccurate readings if the subject kept fidgeting. _And we didn’t want that did we?_ With controlled breaths, she turned her head to watch him fiddle with the machine at the desk.

Unlike the rest of the club, the room was brightly lit. _No darkness to hide behind here._ As he stepped behind the desk, the threads of his suit shimmered in the light. The color was burnt raisin, not black like she had thought.

 _His closet probably costs more than my yearly government wage._ Being a spy wasn’t necessarily bad pay, but she was still considered a civil servant so she was subjected to government-regulated pay freezes. Speaking of which...what would her payment be like from a business built out of drugs and whores? That was still considered part of the private sector right? Definitely expected to be a step up from her public sector wage. Not that she had a clue what to do with the extra money earned from this job.

Staccato beeps clicked in the background as he accessed one of the desk drawers. He pulled out a laptop and opened it. Taking some wires, he connected it to the polygraph. His hands moved meticulously and she wondered how many other people had sat in her place. He tapped open another drawer and took out objects that wouldn’t look out of place in a doctor’s office.

He stood up with what looked like an arm cuff to measure blood pressure. Standing in front of her, he raised his eyebrows and looked towards her right arm.

“Please take off your blazer. This needs to come into contact with your skin for an accurate reading,” he said, his voice low.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his as she took her blazer off. This man would not see her lose her cool. Folding her blazer, she draped it over her knees and let the fabric cover as much of her calves as possible. She cursed that she had chosen to exploit sexism by wearing a skirt.

“You put every one of your employees through this?”

“You said it yourself. After the random shootout, drug trip, blindfolding and kidnapping, this seemed like the next logical step.”

He shrugged his shoulders as if all the above were perfectly normal things in his day to day life.

“Have you ever worked somewhere where you didn’t know what to expect when you showed up in the morning?”

“The Ritz was perfect until you came in and got it shot it to pieces,” she said.

“No one ever tried to kill me there before. I was grateful for the novelty. Managing whores and drugs can be very boring sometimes.”

The slightly cold fabric of the cuff made her flinch as he wrapped it around her right upper arm. The pressure felt firm, but not uncomfortable enough to cut off her circulation.

“And it led me to you,” he said without emotion, the true intention ambiguous.

His head turned away before she could examine his expression. Reaching over the desk, he pulled two long wires and faced Sansa again with that perpetually blank face.

“These are for your fingers,” he said as he held up the wires.

Sansa could see that the ends were affixed with velcro. His hands were soft yet firm as he attached the velcro strips around her two forefingers. Each strip had a metal plate that felt cold as they pressed against her finger pads.

She had never taken a polygraph before. The vetting process for British intelligence agents didn’t require one. How could she beat the machine? Every spy movie and TV show she could think of ran through her head, but she couldn’t remember anything. If she passed this, she would have a very long chat with Olenna about including a chapter on how to beat a polygraph in the bloody field handbook.

“Almost done,” he said. In his hand was what looked like a rubber tube. Small sensors were clipped onto the tube at intervals. A matching one lay on the desk. His eyes beckoned her to move forward.

"May I?"

She made a very conscious effort to control her breathing as she nodded. He stepped closer and bent down in front of her. With calm hands, he wrapped the first tube around her abdomen at a spot right below her ribcage. Unhurriedly, he stood back up and stepped closer to the desk.

“Last one,” he said, holding up the second rubber tube. Stepping in front of her, he silently directed her to move forward again. When she didn’t move, he raised his eyebrows and patted the tube expectantly. 

She shifted in her seat and leaned forward, making sure that her blazer still covered her knees. As his eyes scanned over her chest, she wondered whether he was using the situation as an excuse to blatantly check her out or whether he was seriously debating where to place the tube.

 _Even his eyes seem to change colour. Just like his personalities._  When she had first met him at the shooting, they had looked blue. The bright light of the room made them currently look as grey as the London sky. Her own eyes, however, seemed to remain a steady shade of clear blue. 

He was close enough to feel her breath uncontrollably hitch as he brought the tube over her head and positioned it right over her breasts. Cloudy eyes fixed into hers as his steady hands slowly readjusted the straps. She inwardly cursed at how easy he provoked and teased her into giving him a reaction even though his own expression was as flat as still water. It was working, but she didn’t want him to know how much it did affect her.

“Are you done? Let’s just get this over with,” she dismissed with annoyance to cover up her nerves. _Whatever happened to simple Twenty Questions? God this man is twisted._

His eyes flicked up to her. Studying her for a moment, he stood up slowly and walked behind the desk. He remained standing as he fiddled with some wires.

“This was one of the better Christmas presents that one of my clients gifted me one year. This is a CIA standard-issue one that’s still used on every new hire over there.”

“Even your...prostitutes have to take a lie detector test to work here?”

He sat down in the chair.

“Why do you ask? You want to be a whore now?”

She glared at him, remaining silent. His face was serious as he continued.

“A polygraph measures your blood pressure and heart rate in response to a series of questions. I will only ask you questions where the answers are yes or no. Depending on your reaction, the readings that show up on my laptop will either remain stable or increase. Do you have any questions?”

It seemed like he was talking to her like the mad scientist who calmly, yet coldly, coaxed his experimental guinea pig into submission before he inflicted it to torture.

“Just one,” she said as she stared directly at him. “What happens if I fail?”

“Admitting defeat so easily. I’m disappointed. I thought you had a bit more fight in you. This will be over sooner than you realise. Don’t overthink. Just think of this like seeing a shrink, if you’ve done that before. God knows you need one after living in this city for too long.”

_I’m not the one who’s mental._

His head turned away, attention on the laptop in front of him. She saw him click something on the screen. Suddenly the single, spaced out beats of what sounded like a heart monitor bounced across the empty room. The sound was unnerving and it made her feel even more tense, like listening to an unconscious patient in the hospital that threatened to suddenly flatline at any moment.

“First question,” he said, stony eyes fixed on hers. “Is your adopted name Alayne Stone?”

“Yes.”  _Maybe if I psych myself out by pretending to lie, my truths will read the same as my lies._ Not hard to do considering the way his eyes seemed to pierce through her alias. 

“Is your birth name Sansa Stark?”

“Yes.” _DNA evidence. Jesus, the man is thorough._

“Was the Ritz your last employer?”

“Yes.”  _Technically not a lie._

“Have you ever broken any laws?”

“Yes.” _Perjury so far._

“Are you referring to the lie you told the police after the shooting?”

“Yes.” _So far so good. Nothing too much out of left field._

“Did you feel guilty about breaking the law?”

“No.”  _I needed to get you to trust me._

“Would you ever break the law again?”

She thought for a second. “Yes.” _Only because the end result is for the greater good._

“Have you ever taken any illegal narcotics?”

“Well considering that I was unknowingly drugged, I now have to answer yes to that haven’t I?”

“Sarcasm is not a response. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding like a spoiled child on the brink of throwing a tantrum.

“Other than the acid that you took at my club, had you tried any narcotics before that?”

“No.”

“Alcohol and coffee are considered to be narcotics you know. I didn’t say illegal. Pay attention.”

_Okay smartass. He must be that annoying know-it-all who had to lord their intelligence over everyone else at social gatherings._

“Do you have a partner?”

“Excuse me?” she said, looking away and almost laughing at the absurd question. _Was he…_

“You heard me perfectly,” he scolded.

“Is that your way of asking if I have a boyfriend? What does that have to do with this job?”

“You’ll be exposed to sensitive information. I need to know if there’s anyone you could potentially share details of this job with. I hate any potential...security breaches.”

_Fair enough. Why do I feel that it’s only an excuse to fish out if I’m single?_

“Yes.”

He looked at her for a moment without speaking. The man could win every staring contest in the world after years of perfecting the art of not blinking. His head slowly turned back at the laptop screen. The ticking pulses of her heartbeats amplified from the monitor between the silent pair.

“Are you comfortable with sex?”

“What?” Her eyes rounded, thrown off by the question. For a second, she thought that she could hear the beats of her heart rate spike in quick successions.

He sighed.

“You do know where you are right? I can’t have a prude act uncomfortable in front of my clients when they demand their varied requests. Obviously, anyone who works for me is a representative of me. Isn’t that what work is?”

He raised his eyebrows and again, she felt like an ignorant child. The question was worded in a way that sounded appropriate enough for the circumstances to avoid being considered sexual harassment, but still...

“Yes.” She gulped discreetly, hoping that the beeps of her heart would cover up the small sound.

“Does sex make you uncomfortable?”

Her eyes widened again. He just asked the same question. She opened her mouth to point that out, but closed it again. Of course he knew that. He would only just scold her again.

“No...I’ve got a boyfriend, remember?”

He blinked slowly, his expression unreadable as he continued.

“That night you were here, was there anything you saw in my club that made you uncomfortable?”

Her mind raced back to what she had seen pre-acid trip to a certain red LED-lit corridor. There had been a blonde woman with a bob...oh. The orgy she had stumbled upon. She turned her head and looked at the blank wall in front of her.

“No.”

He looked back at her with the face of a teacher who had just caught a student trying to cheat on an exam.

“When you came to that door where an orgy was taking place, you were comfortable?”

_What? How did he - of course. CCTV. This club was rigged with so many cameras that it would put MI6 to shame._

She looked up at the camera that was fixed to the top half of the ceiling. It’s blank black eye stared coldly back at her. The perfect cold accessory to the pair that regarded her over the screen of his laptop.

“No,” she responded. No point in lying if the cameras had caught her running away from the room.

“Did you really enjoy being blindfolded?”

“What does that have to - “ she started. He raised his eyebrows and slightly nodded his head. Again, his expression was that of a condescending teacher. _Yes or no answers remember?_

She answered with a glare. He didn't smile, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

“So if I were to blindfold you right now, you wouldn’t object?” 

_Where is this interview going?_

“Yes. I would object,” she said.

He drummed the tips of his fingers against the desktop. The beat synchronised with the electronic pounding of her heartbeats as he looked at her, seeming to draw out the silent tension in the room.

“Finally, an honest answer. It's good to know your boundaries. Well, I’m not going to do that. I'd like you to see this.”

For the first time since she had seen him today, he smiled. It wasn’t the practical smile used between business professionals. Nor was it a warm one shared between friends. It was the upturned snarl of a predator before it devoured its prey. 

She focused on the sound of her heart beating. Listening, she thought that the beats were becoming slightly more rapid.

_Think of your happy place. Calm down. Somewhere sunny by the sea. You can practically feel the sand between your toes as you feel the sun heat your skin. Relax._

Quick clicks of the keyboard joined the eerily electronic pulses in the otherwise silent room. 

The laptop rustled against the desk as he turned the screen to face her. Instead of a reading of her vital signs, the monitor had a full colour livestream of an empty bedroom. Judging from what she saw on the screen, the camera had to have been positioned on the top of the far wall that faced the bed. 

Sansa's eyes jolted towards the man who silently watched the change in her expressions as he sat behind his desk. 

"Tell me what you see," he said. 

"There's an empty room with a bed in the middle. A small cabinet next to it. No wallpaper. Large comfy pillows. It's your bedroom?"

He only looked at her impassively.

"No," she deduced. "Can't be. Can't see a wardrobe or a door leading to a closet. Your closet would probably be bigger than my entire flat. So. It's a hotel room?" 

His eyes only pointed downwards to the screen.  _Keep looking,_ they seemed to say.

The entrance to the right of the bed opened on the screen. Two people stumbled into the room, kissing. A dark haired man and a red haired woman. She looked up at Littlefinger, but he only motioned for her to continue looking at the screen. This livestream of sorts was also rigged with accompanying audio. The pops and releases of their kisses on the screen joined the quickening rhythm of her heart. 

"Who are they and why am I watching them about to..." 

Littlefinger stared back at her. 

"I already told you my instructions. All you have to do is follow them."

She breathed out a small rush of air through her nose as she begrudgingly looked back at the screen. The man was now starting to unbutton the woman's shirt as he sucked her neck. The woman's hand came up to stop him.

 _"Not so fast..sir. Will I have to whip you into submission?_ " Her voice sounded northern-accented. Manchester maybe? The man chuckled. 

" _I wouldn't mind that. That's my job in Parliament already. I whip my party to follow protocol. That is what a whip does. I'm obligated by duty."_

Privilege perfumed the man's voice. An Old Etonian perhaps? He sounded like he had probably followed the standard upper-class trajectory of Eton - Oxford/Cambridge - Parliament. The woman smiled, but she stepped away from him. 

" _Y_ _ou're such an important man. I love powerful men. Too bad no one recognises your value to this country. Except for me."_

The woman kept smiling at the man as she took off her shirt. Her black bra barely held in her ample chest as she stepped to the side of the bed. The man had a large grin on his face as he pushed himself onto the bed and lay in the middle, still fully clothed. 

_"Soon, love, soon. After this whole Brexit mess blows over. People will know me as the great Quentyn Blackwood, the man who negotiated to save this country."_

Stepping out of her heels, the woman lifted up her skirt and straddled the man on the bed. 

_"Share your power with me."_

She bent down to kiss the man's chest, unbuttoning his shirt as she travelled downwards.

_"Darling, you'll be able to feel my power soon."_

_"Indulge me."_

The woman now reached the top of his trousers. Her head rested, unmoving, on top of the man's groin. The man laughed. 

_"Why do you want me to talk about work? Work is so boring. Being surrounded by all those grim-faced men all day spouting boring legislation."_

_"Just because you pay me to fuck you doesn't make me an idiot. I'm interested. I read the paper. I'm curious to know what happens behind the scenes."_

_"Curious are you?"_

_"Curious enough to hold back a good blowjob until you indulge me. Tell me about how you saved the common people at work today."_

The man laughed. He fell quiet as the woman rubbed her head up and down his groin. She didn't move to unzip his trousers. The man closed his eyes and groaned. 

" _Okay then doll. I agree to your terms. I'm only on my lunch break though."_

_"Just say that an unscheduled meeting came up and that it went over lunch time."_

Another laugh.  _"Oh Ros. You're a lot more adventurous than my wife. She's never interested in talking to me."_

Sansa could hear the woman's smile as she spoke.  _"That's why you fuck me and not her. Indulge me and I'll do the same to you. Time is short. You need to get back to running this country sooner or later."_

The woman unzipped the man's trousers and pulled them down. She ran her hands up and down the middle part of his boxers.

_"God you're such a tease. Okay. Well, are you familiar with Article 50?"_

The woman placed her head on top of his groin and nodded, still not bothering to take off his boxers. The man's hands stroked through the woman's long red hair. 

_"Of course you are clever girl. We're negotiating a new trade deal with the European Union. New customs regulations for the border. Hoping to get better terms."_

The woman pulled down his boxers slowly as she kissed his pelvic area. 

" _What about those negotiations?"_

_"Won't happen until tomorrow in Parliament. We need to get the plans for a new customs department forward first."_

The woman's mouth moved down onto the man's exposed groin. A loud groan issued from the screen. Words were replaced with pops and sighs.

Sansa was starting to fidget and she tried to control herself. Gripping the arms of the chair, she tried to zone out and imagine her happy place as she tried to look at the very edge of the monitor.  _I’m sitting on a beach, staring at the ocean…_

From the screen, the woman let out a loud moan and Sansa was sucked back to the present. The woman had moved on top of the man. By this point, they were both naked as the woman bounced up and down. The camera's position hid the woman's face, but it didn’t help that the woman's long red hair was similar to Sansa's own.

Her eyes tore away from the screen and met Petyr's. His dark gaze drew her in like the missing half of a magnet. There was something about his manner, his  _control_ , that she found attractive. Even as the sounds of what was basically a pornographic livestream increased rapidly in volume, he remained unaffected. The only thing that captured his focus was her. A chilling thought.

His nonchalance to the scene threw her off. Whenever she thought of Littlefinger, the same sentence crossed her mind.  _Of course a man who named himself Mocking Bird would be strange. Did I misjudge him?_ _Is_   _he actually gay or really asexual like Olenna said before?_ Even that didn't seem to fit...but how the hell could she think that she understood him?

She looked back at the screen. This is what she would have to do to the man sitting in front of her? She wasn't entirely ignorant of what she needed to do, but seeing it play out in front of her...

The man on the screen suddenly jolted upward, hands gripping around the back of the woman who continued to straddle him. Grunts and moans sounded as he ravaged the woman's chest. Flashes of his dark-haired head moved rapidly on either side of the woman. It wasn't hard for Sansa to picture herself and the man sitting silently across from her in their place. She felt herself twitch. When she uncrossed her legs, she was aware of a slick heat that started to radiate from her core. _Oh no. Why?_ She tried not to blush as she beat her features into an unaffected expression.

 _No. No. No. NO. Think of England. Rainy, dry and cold. Jolly old England._ She tried to imagine Olenna scolding her in a sharp voice for losing her control.  _This man wrote a whole new meaning to the word ‘mindfuck'._

Sansa could hear the increased frequency of her heartbeats on the monitor. Now, her heart sounded like the rapid chirps of a hummingbird trying to escape from a predator. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the line graphs that read her vital signs on the computer screen had spiked into a row of sharp mountains.

"Stop," she barely heard herself say, looking down at the floor. Her heart kept beeping. "Stop it. Please shut it off." Her eyes shot up to the straps that connected her to the polygraph. Her body flexed in a way that seemed like she had decided to take off the straps, but then suddenly changed her mind.

To her surprise, she heard the sound of his laptop turning around on the desk. After the click of a button, the only sound she heard was that of her own racing pulse.

"Sansa, it's okay. It's only sex. And vanilla one at that. It's ordinary. Completely normal."

She felt like her cheeks were burning when she looked up. 

"If it's so  _normal,_ what was the point of that?"

Again, there was a disconnect between his eyes and his mouth. The expressions seemed to belong to two different people. He didn't smile, yet his gaze seemed to tease her as he remained silent.

"Okay. Your employees are good at their job?" 

His eyebrows raised, yet he didn't say anything. She reflected on the scene.  _Think. What did you see?_

"The woman, this Ros, works for you. The man, Blackwood, is a client. He works for Parliament." 

_Of course._

"You use your...workers...to get information." 

“I see the value in a pair of loose lips," he said, finally smirking.

"Those so-called  _powerful_ people think they can come here to secretly indulge their need for a fuck or for hits of their drugs of choice, but their arrogance clouds their judgement. Those politicians, businessmen, diplomats...they don’t realise that actually, I’m the one fucking them.”

His eyes flicked to the side. Letting out a silent chuckle, it seemed like he was laughing at his own private joke.  _Beep. Beep. Beep,_ sounded her heart. Too bad the room didn’t have any mirrors. She wanted to see what the man saw as he looked back at her. If  _this_ was a job interview, what would actually  _working_ for him be like? But wait.  _I don’t know if I’ve passed his twisted version of a test._

“I’m a very powerful man. Other people look down on me because I’m not old money. Because I’m who they scoffingly refer to as a mere pimp. Those same people who sneer at me come to my brothel.”

As he stared at her, she thought about how convenient it would be for something to be invented that allowed her to read his thoughts. _But then wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of a spy?_

His eyes briefly turned back to the laptop screen. He stood up and touched a button on the polygraph machine. The sound of her heartbeats disappeared. Silence. She wished that the machine was turned back on so that the room couldn’t feel as tense. His movements were as languid as a panther as he moved past the desk and stood beside her. He bent down to her side and gestured to the velcro strips attached to her body. 

"May I take these off?"

She nodded. Wordlessly, he bent down and detached the velcro strips from her fingers and gently placed them behind him on top of the desk. It seemed like he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. When he stood in front of her again, she couldn't help but gaze down to his trousers. Her eyes seemed to follow their own train of thought as they moved to the spot between his legs. _Nothing. Shamefully unlike me._

“Every person who works for me understands that power," he continued in a casual voice as he bent down to her side and started to detach her arm cuff. He turned around again as it joined the velcro strips on top of the desk.

"They know who is in control. I reward my employees well if they satisfy me. If I decide to take you on, you will work hard to my satisfaction.” 

He moved backwards a bit, balancing himself lightly on his heels as he reached for the tube underneath her ribs. His hands were quick and methodical as he undid the strap. Her chest heaved when his hands undid the top tube that was strapped over her breasts. The man was silent as he freed her, placing the tubes neatly on top of the desk. He shut down the laptop, closing the screen and locking it back into a desk cabinet. Then, he bent down behind his desk again. She heard the sound of another compartment opening. From her vantage point on the other side of the desk, she couldn’t see what the man placed inside his pocket. He stood up and walked back to her side, extending a hand to her. She took it.

“But we can’t talk about rewards without talking about punishments," he continued softly as he gently helped her stand up.

As she stood up, she didn’t realise how tense she had been. She let go of his hand, not trusting herself with his touch as he stood beside her. Whether it was the adrenaline from this whole thing or the effect of having just sat through two people having live sex, she couldn't decide. The air between the two was charged with an unseen spark that threatened to be unleashed with any prolonged form of contact. 

He stepped close enough for her to smell the light smattering of peppermint and pipe tobacco. Involuntarily, she clenched herself. Her immediate reaction had been to try smell herself to make sure that her body didn't betray her, but even her senses seemed to be dominated by his scent alone. This whole ordeal should not have the effect it seemed to have on her body. It was wrong to feel what she did. But the way that he had looked at her...the way he talked to her... _is this why people curse the devil after they've easily given in to their temptations?_ The man made her want to simultaneously step closer and run towards the light. 

"No one likes to be fucked over," he said. "But I've always liked to be the only one doing the fucking."

His tone was deceptively easygoing. However, the words he spoke were the same puzzle that he seemed to enjoy playing with her.  _Threat, warning or challenge?_

"I told you that you would have to read between the lines," he continued. "Most people would have been distracted by the sex and not have bothered to pay attention to what's  _really_ interesting. Knowledge is power, Sansa. The devil is in the details."

This time he smiled as he stepped away towards the door. When his back turned, she rolled her shoulders to ease her muscles before she followed him. 

As they walked down the dark corridors of his club, she thought that he was leading her down a different path through the club than the one they had taken when she had arrived. It was hard to tell though since every passageway looked similarly dark.

They came to a door. FIRE EXIT DO NOT OPEN was etched in fluorescent colours in the middle. Unconcerned with the warning he opened it. _Seems to be his life philosophy,_ she thought as he stepped aside to let her through first.

She blinked as she walked outside to an empty back alley. The world outside of his dark as night club didn’t have that much light either. London was still as grim and grey as she had always been. Too much sunlight in a place like this would definitely make people uncomfortable.

As he stepped outside, the heavy black door banged shut. After being shut in the quiet room with nothing but the sound of her own heart and the moans of camera sex, the chaotically commonplace sounds of the big city rang in her ears. Ever cautious, his eyes scanned both ends of the street.

“This world is full of liars," he said as he faced her. "And each one of them is better than you."

Her head turned as she controlled her emotions. If there was one emotion that she could run away from forever, it was disappointment. 

She felt his hand come up to her face. Gently, he raised her chin. The intensity of his eyes anchored her gaze to him.

"There's so much that I can teach you," he said almost to himself.

“Am I hired?” 

She wasn't sure how she would feel if he told her that she had gotten the job. If yes, would she feel happy to finally be embedded? If no, would she feel relieved to be spared from entering his dangerous world? But she had sealed her fate when she had lied for him. The information he had about her past tied her to him, whether she liked it or not. His answer came in the form of a cell phone and charger that he handed to her from the inner pocket of his blazer. It was a standard smartphone. Android, she noted.

“This is your new work phone. Always keep it charged and on you at all times. There is nothing more annoying than having one of my employees miss a call. If you ignore my calls or any of my express instructions…”

The look he gave her finished the sentence for him.

“But. I still don’t know what I’m going to be doing? What about a job description? And pay?”

His mouth upturned slightly.

“I wouldn’t worry about any of that. I’m a man of many surprises right? Wouldn’t want to break my streak now.”

“What were the results of the polygraph?”

Instead of answering, he smiled. A stranger would have called the expression charming, but Sansa knew better despite their limited interactions. He leaned closer to her. His face came up to her ear. The man morphed again right before her eyes. The coldly dispassionate businessman/mad scientist was replaced by...Petyr? 

“I didn’t need to look at the screen." His hot breath dragged down the side of her face. "I could see and smell it. Tell your... _boyfriend_ that he’s doing something wrong.”

He leaned in. She could feel the smirk on his face as he kissed her cheek. As fleeting as his alias, the mockingbird stepped and turned around. With his back turned to her, she heard him tap in the code at the discreet security panel next to the door. When he opened the door, he quickly disappeared back into the club like a vampire eager for the safety of darkness.

She turned on the phone as she walked up the empty alleyway to the end junction that intersected the main street. The phone was only equipped with the standard apps. She flicked to the contacts icon. Of course, there was only one unnamed number listed.

Although she was glad to be finally be embedded into his business, another part of her felt like she was making the wrong decision to be involved. He had said that the purpose of the livestream had been to show her to look past the obvious. Another part of her thought that he was also trying to gauge her tolerance towards sex.  _Failed that._  Another idea came to her. 

 _He's on to_ _me. He knows my game. The man makes a living out of finding out secrets. He made me watch one of his employees set up a honey trap to send a message to me._

 _"Sweet words and cleavage won't work for me. I make my living teaching my whores those tricks,"_ she imagined him saying to her in his smooth voice. A part of her felt glad that he wasn't easy. She wouldn't have to seduce him anytime soon. Another part of her was curious. He wasn't like most men. Being constantly surrounded by sex seemed to have desensitised him. Or had it? She touched her cheek, feeling even more baffled. 

_But if he knows my game, why is he choosing to remain silent?_

She scanned both sides of the street and looked behind her. As she looked up, she could see the white capped blank eye of a CCTV camera. It was pointed directly at her. For some reason, it made her feel paranoid. Surprising, really. London supposedly had the most CCTV cameras per capita. Someone's gotta know who's home at all times.

Glancing down at her phone, she suddenly looked at it as though she was holding a bomb. It was just as deadly. The man wasn't stupid. It probably doubled as a listening and tracking device. A cheap and convenient form of surveillance hidden in an everyday object. 

 _At least thoughts are still considered to be private property. There has to be a safe way to communicate with Olenna,_  she pondered as she glanced around both sides of the busy street one last time. She disappeared into the indistinguishable mass of people making their way through the most spied upon city in the world.

Hidden amongst the crowd, Sansa felt the makings of a plan.


	8. Bad Luck Button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there shippers. A woman sitting next to me on the train was on AO3 on her phone and I saw that as a sign that I needed to rejoin the creepyship. Please take me back? :)
> 
> Maybe it will be easier to write if the chapters are shorter, but more frequent. I find it hard to concentrate with what little time I have to write. It helps that it's too fucking cold outside to stay outdoors for too long.

December always arrived into the city with a wind that bit the skin and seemed to suck every last bit of warmth from the bones. Even the sun hid under a blanket of cloud.

The morning streets were already full of people, shivering as they stuffed their hands further into the pockets of their coats. She wondered if people were walking faster to get to work or to raise their body temperature. Sansa had always wondered if she had a mutant gene in her body that made her immune to the cold. It made her believe that her bloodline had come from a place a lot further north. No matter how low the temperature dropped in London, she never thought the weather was as bad as people made it sound.

As the car made its way through the city, Sansa did not envy the people she saw outside her window. She liked viewing the world from behind the tinted glass of an expensive car. The leather pressed into her back like a warm hand, coaxing her to settle into the heated seat. There was a smugness she felt in not having to partake in the daily morning commute that was the reality of millions of Londoners. Luxury settled into Sansa's life with the ease of an old friend who had been away for some time and had returned. She had discovered a side of her personality that enjoyed being treated as special, living in a world that was apart from the average person. 

Petyr hadn't wanted her to walk in the cold.

 _"I care about my employees,"_ he had said with concern.  _"If you wish to walk in the cold, you are free to make your own choice. But, my driver can pick you up every morning and take you back home. When the temperature drops later...well, don't complain that I didn't offer. The choice is yours."_

She had considered to decline him just to be contrary. He had looked at her, waiting for her decision with the charming patience of a politician who had disguised an order into a choice. On second thought, turning down a heated car and personal driver just to make a point would be silly when the weather dropped further. It would be hell to walk when the streets became slippery with melted snow. Tripping risked the possibility of a broken or twisted ankle. 

Other than formal greetings, the driver never spoke to her. The silence in the car during the near one-hour drive lent a coldness to the air even though the heater stayed on. The first time that Petyr's driver had picked her up, Sansa had tried to make small talk. Her politeness was the bait that she thought could get her information, or even insights into her employer and the dark world he moved in. However, each attempt at conversation was politely deflected. Even though Petyr wasn't present, his influence over his employees both impressed and worried Sansa. She often found herself wondering if he cut off all his employees' tongues on their first day of work.

In the weeks since she had started at the Mockingbird, Petyr had taught her how to read numbers and do basic accounting. The hours spent pouring over long lists of depressingly pragmatic numbers had felt like she was back at university, taking a course that she cared nothing about. Annoyingly, none of Petyr's records were digital. Every transaction was handwritten into a ledger. 

_"Don't trust digital. Books are easy to burn and don't leave a traceable footprint. Computers are fast, but anything written on a device with WiFi can be hacked into and used against you."_

The numbers she had to calculate and record revealed all, yet betrayed nothing. Everything was recorded under a page that was titled with a code that Petyr hadn't entrusted her to. The dark lines that she recorded with her pen scared her with their ambiguity. Growing up without knowledge of her past had made her hate being kept in the dark. She excelled at her studies partly because there was always an answer that she could research and come to a conclusion about.

At first glance, the figures looked as harmless and overlooked as the man they belonged to. Yet collectively, she suspected that these mere scratches of ink on paper had the ability to harm and possibly ruin someone in a powerful or wealthy position. This complicity in harmful actions plagued her with a guilt that she may not have felt as strongly if she wasn't religious.

Every morning before she went to work, she mentally repeated words of confidence to herself with the concentration that daily prayer gave. Like most people who had grown up with nothing, her prayers had given her the strength to believe. Prayers were a way for Sansa to push her worries and fears to a higher power. Alcohol. Violence. Drugs. Casual sex. Olenna had told her that sin was the usual way that agents released the stress of creating and living under new identities. 

 _Maybe this was the reason that Olenna assigned me to Baelish_ , she thought. _Another agent would choose to not come back from their mission. They'd permanently make their residence in the Mockingbird._   _I turn to prayer every day before I go to work. I am not easily tempted._

The driver turned the now familiar corner and drove down into the dark tunnel that led to the garage under the Mockingbird. She fought back the thrill she felt at the thought that she earned her living by descending in the darkness of hell's playground. Her hands folded together in her lap, away from the driver's line of sight, as she mentally recited the familiar verses.

_Lead us not into temptation, thy kingdom come, thy will be done. Amen._

 ___

Petyr sat in an armchair in the foyer, his brow furrowed slightly in annoyance as he scrolled through the messages on his phone. He concentrated on the screen like he held a two-way mirror that allowed him to telepathically text his intentions to his contact list. 

The interior of the club was so dimly lit that Sansa could see the wisps of steam coming from the cup of coffee that rested on top of its saucer on the small table to his side. Even when he was thinking deeply, he never slouched. After observing him for some time, she wondered whether he didn't slouch not because he was concerned about his posture, but to avoid wrinkling his expensive suits.

His silent displeasure changed into a smile as he saw her. Placing his phone inside his blazer, he stood up and walked toward her.

"Sansa," he spoke into her ear, his voice cradling her name like an intimate secret as he kissed her cheek in greeting. He only spoke her real name when their bodies were close together, blocked away from other people's ears. She wondered if he was genuinely concerned for her safety or if it gave him pride to think that he was the only person who knew her identity.

When he had kissed her cheek the first time, the feel of the short hairs of his beard against her skin had made her body tense as quickly as a startled deer. Although they had spent more time together in the Mockingbird, her body refused to fully relax. His presence seemed to shake up the particles in the air and stir up the primal instinct in her nerves that warned her to remain alert.

She involuntarily closed her eyes and inhaled. He always smelled like a woodland creature that liked to nest in lightly smoked bushels of mint. Whenever she smelled mint tea or saw the distinct flash of green at the supermarket, she thought of him. Even without trying, he had found a way to enter her mind and mark his scent around her thoughts. It made her feel self-conscious because she wondered if she had a scent that made him trigger thoughts of her.

Petyr was staring at her when she opened her eyes again, his face an iron gate that locked away his thoughts. It annoyed her when he looked at her and she could only guess what he was thinking. 

Her boot heel tapped on the floor as she stepped back and away from him. The sound hit his still body like a bell. He moved past her towards the elevator, his body unhurriedly moving with the silent confidence that she would follow him. 

"Come now. It's time for a history lesson."

"First Accounting 101 and now history?"

His eyebrows raised and his mouth puckered like her words had tasted sour. 

"I'd forgotten how much pouting suits spoiled girls. The  _lady_  has gotten a driver and now she complains about knowledge. How do you feel about taking public transport again? Squished like sardines in the cold? And just as smelly. Why some people don't like to bathe..."

Petyr grimaced. She could not imagine Petyr on the tube like a normal person. Everything that Petyr chose to inhabit his world with was extravagantly expensive, yet subdued at the same time. She admired that he had a talent for making two mutually exclusive things seem complimentary. It made her believe that his personalities of Petyr and Littlefinger acted in the same way, polar opposites that somehow combined together into a functioning being that fit in its own odd way.

"Well I wasn't expecting to be studying for a degree at Whore University."

"Oh, that's a bit of knowledge that you haven't come to yet."

When he smirked at her, she wished that she could flip through his myriad of reactions and switch his facial expression away from the naughty channel. The times that he hinted at the knowledge of things she had no experience in or when she happened to hear the groans of a whore in the background, she felt like she needed to shield her eyes, put her hands over her ears and leave the room.

They arrived at the elevator. When the door opened, his arm outstretched and beckoned her to step forward first. Each wall face of the elevator was a full-length glass mirror, multiplying the shadows of their two figures in an infinite loop. The memory of her bad experience with psychedelics made Sansa feel like she was in the passenger seat of an out-of-control amusement park ride that was about to crash into a fun house.

Steering her mind away from the carsick feeling that was building in the bottom of her throat, she focused on the pyramid of encircled floor numbers in front of her. Petyr pushed the lone button at the very top of the row. PH. Penthouse.

"I didn't know that you were superstitious."

"I'm not," he countered matter-of-factly.  

"There's no number thirteen on the elevator. Instead of a thirteen, there's the penthouse button."

He smiled like he wanted to indulge her. When his head tilted against his side of the elevator, the dim light made his gelled hair glisten like he had just stepped out of the shower. 

"Bad luck is a rationalization technique that people invent to cover up their lack of foresight. A fairy tale that grown ups tell themselves."

"I don't think so. Bad things can happen out of the blue to good people."

"You sweet summer child."

Sansa sighed in annoyance.

"Freak accidents happen all the time! People get struck by lightning or happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The smile that he gave her made her conscious of how young she felt her mind was in comparison to his.

"Yes, accidents. How  _unlucky_ some people are.

She overlooked his sarcasm, her mind churning over the laundry list of misfortunes that had happened in her young life. Good luck was something in her life that she would keep an open door to. Events out of her control had taken everything and everyone that could have given her happiness. 

"Still doesn't explain why there's no thirteenth floor?"

When he looked back at her, his expression had switched back to its regularly-scheduled programming. Littlefinger had come back on air. The elevator dinged and the door opened. He didn't step out, choosing instead to turn his body to face her. The light that filtered into the elevator cleaved the profile of his face, leaving one half of his face lit and the other left in the darkness. She held her breath. His voice seemed to purr as he spoke.

"Because the bad luck button is something that I only reserve for people who have been very naughty. When you learn to create luck, bad or good...that's when the fun starts."

His mouth slithered into a smirk as he held open the elevator door.

"Ladies first." 

\---

The penthouse was an enclosed part of the rooftop. As Petyr led her further into the space, they passed one of the two sleek bars. Clear glass windows served as the walls, offering three-hundred-sixty degree views of the sky and the sprawling city below. Comfy banquettes lined the sides of the walls, each one of them tastefully divided into private cabanas covered by silk canopies. Large pillows were neatly placed on top of the cushions. It was empty now, but Sansa could imagine people placing the pillows against the glass to lean on as they lounged. The juvenile curiosity in her made her want to jump up on one of the cushioned banquettes, take one of the pillows and watch the world from the top. 

"When the night is clear, you can see the stars. If you're lucky, even the moon comes out to say hello."

Sansa looked up. Even the ceiling was made of glass. At the moment, the morning sky was disappointingly filled with polluted clouds that looked like dirty cotton balls.

"I'm going out for a smoke. If you want, you're welcome to join me."

She nodded. The wind blew her hair askew as they stepped onto the balcony and walked towards the railing. 

"Sorry," she mumbled as wisps of her hair hit his face. Her hands were cold as she stuffed her long hair into her coat. She didn't see him watch her, oblivious to how the red in her hair coaxed out a range of emotions in his eyes.

When she looked back at him, his dark-haired head had already tilted down to take out a cigarette from his pocket. One of his hands reached out, testing the direction of the wind as his other hand held a silver-chromed cigarette case. Engraved with an intricate pattern, she expected the case to contain something more expensive than cigarettes.

Petyr's cheekbones looked sharp enough to draw blood as he sucked the cigarette. He smoked like a leading man in one of those classic films that made smoking look glamorous, all brooding looks and morally ambiguous intentions. She placed her elbows on the ledge, resting her head against her hands. 

"Makes you feel like you're on top of the world, doesn't it?"

His hand waved the smoke away from her as he gestured towards the view. The city was so tightly concentrated that she could only see the tops of the other buildings. Her eyes played hop scotch from one rooftop to the next as she tried to make out a landmark. 

"Buckingham Palace is that way," he offered. 

"It's peaceful. Cold, but peaceful. I just wish..." 

She sighed and looked away, her eyes distant. He remained silent for a time, waiting for when she was ready to continue. The tone of his voice was casual when he finally spoke.

"What do you wish for Sansa? All you need to do is tell me."

Exhaling a puff of smoke, he turned his body to face her.

"If I were you, I would wish for vengeance on the killers who murdered my family."

At first, she didn't react. Time stopped for a moment as her brain hit a mental wall. Then the words rushed out of her.

"Are you saying...my family...murdered?!? What.."

There was the answer she had suspected. The nightmares, the inkling of fear, the doubts...everything slid into place. It was one thing to think the worst, but to hear it spoken aloud...

Her hands gripped the roots of her hair so tightly that she wouldn't have been surprised to find bald spots later. She didn't care. The physical pain was no match for the emotional turmoil that burned her heart. Even in front of Petyr, she wanted to deal with the news the only way she knew how. Her eyes clouded over as a storm of tears fell down her face. 

She felt the warmth of Petyr's body. His arms wrapped around her, attempting to contain her as her world fell apart. His hand stroked her head as she buried her face in his chest. The bottom of his chin rested on top of her head as he held her. Between the sobs, she thought she could hear Petyr saying soothing words to help her calm down.

"Sorry," she said after awhile. Sansa sniffled. "I've ruined your coat."

"Don't worry about that."

His mouth kissed the top of her forehead.

"Who leads this country?"

"What?"

She looked up, her eyes half-crazed and confused.

"Why are you asking about the Queen?"

His eyebrows raised slightly in a silent prompt to her. The tears blurred her vision, making his face appear like it would wash away at any second. Her hand wiped her eyes. Petyr's voice was low and soothing as he spoke.

"Let me help you create a bad luck button for those bad people. I can show you how. _Avenge your family_."

His eyes were hatching treacherous plans as she followed his line of sight towards the direction he had pointed out to her earlier. 

Buckingham Palace.


End file.
